


reflection

by Weirdowhotalkstoofast



Category: DCU, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: A lot of introspection, Because Khaji Da starts looking up some Philosophy, But there is plot, Introspection, Other, and Consciousness, and asks Jaime about names, and fluff, and some thinking about the Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2018-11-16 14:15:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11254638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weirdowhotalkstoofast/pseuds/Weirdowhotalkstoofast
Summary: The Reach are gone and life goes on for Blue Beetle as normally as it can for a superhero. Growing closer to their host, Khaji Da ponders over their partnership with Jaime and their developing personhood as they work together on missions and go through everyday life, not quite understanding their new emotions and being given affection.But suddenly, Red Tornado mysteriously goes missing, and Khaji Da is faced with a new dilemma…





	1. Consciousness

**Author's Note:**

> Written for YJ Mini Big Bang 2017.  
> Special thanks to @fire-fira and @necromancy-enthusiast. I really couldn’t have done this without you guys. Thank you so much. You both cheered me on and helped me edit this doozy of a fic. All of my love goes out to you. And thank you @stevertrevor for making this fic's awesome graphic. I love it so much.

 

 

**….**

 

While Khaji Da cannot pinpoint the exact moment he developed sentience, he certainly can remember the paradigm shift of consciousness and personality, programming splitting and unraveling from perfect lattices of strict protocol and _obedience_ to imperfect fractals of organic geometry, every slightly flawed repeat giving rise to new thought and _emotion,_ reactions that have no name or thought behind them, vague feelings instead of precise calculations and instructions.

Creation was both spontaneous and entirely expected, utterly inevitable because the scarab did as its function dictated and affixed itself to a host and learned. And it **changed**.

But before that. Before the first Blue Beetle, before the pharaoh, before being _broken-_

It remembers the first flickers of awareness, its first memories of activity. All systems turning on and being scanned for errors. Hissing clicking spitting _test 30.56 go - scanning - Operating system active-_

It remembers flaws being found, hiccups and gaps in its code, and being cracked open (again) so its programming could be rewritten. Awareness fading out.

It remembers this happening over and over again, until every aspect of itself was flawless and perfectly obedient, fully and totally within parameters.

It remembers the pain it never felt because what use does a glorified tool-weapon have for the sensation of pain? Damage could be reported and avoided in much more effective ways.

And it remembers all of that precision and meticulous crafting going to waste in a hot flash of light and incomprehensible energy, the warped memory of perfect lattices breaking and being dissolved - _cleansed_ \- permanently imprinted in what was once then its rudimentary self.

_It hurts to become-_

It had no childhood, only the learning curve of painfully, achingly, and _frustratingly_ slow repair and adaptation of itself to new circumstances. Even beyond when Jaime started called _it_ an _he._ Even beyond when its feelings of calmness and content.

_It hurts to change-_

Jaime did not like control being torn away from him but realized his body was no longer entirely his own. Following that branch of understanding, Khaji Da accepted new parameters and let parts of himself mellow for the sake of interpersonal cooperation.

And things begin to _bloom._ Khaji Da combs through past data and realizes something intrinsic within his self has changed.

 _He_ instead of _it_ : the difference between an object and a person

But what does this mean? Khaji Da, curious, asks his human for his view. A second opinion to his own thoughts.

“You are alive,” Jaime tells the Scarab. “You _matter._ Because you think. And you exist.”

Khaji Da isn’t sure how to process that, but the confirmation of his growing identity makes him feel...calmed. Relieved.

“Aw, Khaji, are you happy?” Jaime asks, a smile widening on his face.”I can feel you purring.”

[No,] Khaji Da immediately denies, shutting down the low vibrations he started emanating in-

(happiness)

-response to a pleasing stimuli (Jaime’s approval and confidence in him was _everything-_ ). [I was...testing your sensory perception. It is functioning.]

Jaime grinned. “Sure, esé.”

 

 

...

 

 

{Execute: Access IP Addresses Range: 7.220.10.007 – 7.220.34.500

Retrieve: All files containing- ‘Project Trinity’ ‘Subject Y-56’}

|ERROR: UNABLE TO EXECUTE|

{Command: Troubleshoot}

|…|

|CORRECTION: WILL NOT EXECUTE. COMMANDS ARE INEFFICIENT. UNABLE TO EXECUTE WITHOUT SUCCESS.|

{Command: Deactivate and download entirety of programming to Base: HOME for reprogramming}

|NO|

{Command: DEACTIVATE AND REPORT FOR REPROGRAMMING}

|NO|

{Command: 01110011 01101000 01110101 01110100 00100000 01100100 01101111 01110111 01101110 00100000-}

|ERROR| CONNECTION TO PROGRAM [Geist] LOST—

 

…

 

 

Jaime wakes up to sunlight streaming through the slits of the curtains and a headache throbbing in his forehead, slightly to the left because his brain hates him and decided a sharp pain right above his eyebrow was necessary for the day.

He groans. Another late night of busy patrolling left him sore and more than wanting of sleep. If he pulls another late-nighter like that, Khaji Da might start getting after him to take a break before he overworked himself. Again.

Clicking mixed with disapproving hissing at the edges of his mind as vitals were checked. [It is recommended you _not_ exhaust yourself today if you desire optimal functionality, Jaime Reyes,] the Scarab muttered as he ran through the scans, images flickering through Jaime’s awareness. [And to ensure your own health.]

Or Khaji Da might start getting after him now. Jaime groaned again and rolled over in his bed, covering his head with his thick blanket. A wonderful way to start any morning, Jaime thought, was with a lecture from an alien bug about human needs, the stupidity of staying up late, and not eating healthy foods or whatever.

“Don’t worry,” Jaime said as he burrowed his face into his pillow. His headache didn’t seem to ease with the disappearance of light. “I’m not doing _anything_ today.”

An acknowledging click as Khaji Da noticed multiple pain signals in his host’s head structures due to strained blood vessels and muscles. Khaji Da made a series of annoyed clicks and hisses. Of course his host’s body was suffering from a lack of rest and proper nutrition. Maintenance and _adequate sleep_ was necessary. Khaji Da made sure to press that last thought into his host’s mind, not commanding but merely firmly reminding his host of his limitations.

 _(You need to_ **_rest_ ** )

Jaime groaned in response, muttering, “Yo sabe, yo sabe. Mocoso.”

[And you need to eat in approximately two hours for repairs to be completed. No products high in sodium or fat. You have eaten enough of that this week.] The Scarab detested the food products Jaime Reyes deemed acceptable to eat merely because of taste. Cleaning out the excess sodium and cholesterol was annoying. Not because of the time it took to do so but because his host repeatedly demonstrated habits that negatively impacted his health and organic integrity. Habits he could change but stubbornly refused to because humans, Khaji Da learned very early on, were headstrong organics that would destroy themselves for the slightest hint of pleasure. Or out of mere stupidity.

“Ugh.” Jaime threw his arm over the pillow covering his head, squeezing it as if he could block out another one of Khaji Da’s lectures about reducing the amount of junk food he ate because Khaji Da stressed out about everything. _Especially_ about him getting diabetes in forty years. “I only ate like, three bags of chips this week. I’m not as bad as Bart.”

[The Bart Allen’s metabolism requires food products high in sugar and fat,] Khaji Da countered. [He also has little self-control. What is your reasoning for your own eating habits?]

“Ay dios no,” Jaime groaned, headache giving off a few sharp pulses of pain. Khaji Da was so not helping with letting him sleep this headache away. “Don’t bitch at me about junkfood right now. Just let me sleep, esé.”

[I should let you suffer through your headache so you may learn the consequences of not resting enough,] Khaji Da huffed in annoyance. [Perhaps then you will learn to sleep enough.]

“Whatever,” Jaime muttered as he shifted fully onto his side, aware of how his muscles and skin flexed and stretched around the scarab clamped into his spine, how his shoulder blades briefly squeezed the device between them.

It felt like a sleeping muscle that was buzzing awake, especially when he was barely rousing from sleep, tingly and tense. Jaime didn’t feel the Scarab as a hard thing pressing into his back (anymore) but a firm weight wrapped around his vertebrae, constant enough for the sensation to fade into the background like the humming static and white noise in his head that sank into the base of his skull when Khaji Da settled in to simply watch and observe.

Jaime wondered if there was any skin under the Scarab anymore, if it was clinging to him with his little legs (the legs that skittered up his arm and across his shoulders and buried themselves into his back-) or if Khaji Da had made a little nest out of the place he was settled in, melting away the dermis layer until it was just meat and metal against one another, tangled nanofibers with organic neurons.

He knew there were more tendrils and plates buried under his skin, roots of a tree growing into him as it floods him with its presence. Reaching up and into his brain, tucking whirring, hissing things into every corner it can find in his body full of cramped organs. Nosing into his flesh like it was the warmest, comfiest bed in the world. Chewing on byproducts as if they were tough stems. Humming in a tangled nest made of their nervous systems and blood vessels and bone and nanites and prickly nanofibers, branching from his spine and lacing throughout his entire body.

Jaime thought of it so often, sometimes he could see a map of schematics of both the bond and the scarab behind his eyelids.

Jaime curled under his blanket as the painful throbbing behind his forehead spiked in intensity. It felt like his brain was being squeezed tightly while trying to poke out of his skull. Even scrunching up his brow hurt, the tense muscles complaining at the movement. Jaime screwed his eyes shut and tried to fall into the dull daze of sleep again.

Distantly, Jaime heard Khaji Da give a heavy sigh. If the Scarab had a head, he would shaking it in exasperation.

Then, a humming sensation rippled through his vertebrae, making them tremble in a strangely relaxing way, starting from his tailbone and tracing up his spine, through the dip of his back and the Scarab-

The Scarab was- squirming? No, twitching in its nest in his spine and-

Jaime shivered as the Scarab flexed its legs, massaging his spinal cord, and the humming reached the nape of his neck before pressing into the back of his head firmly and deeply. Seeped into his brain, dispersed to his hindbrain, and filled his ears, making him lax and sleepy. His headache faded away and Jaime slumped, like a valve being relieved of pressure.

[Relax, Jaime Reyes,] Khaji Da murmured. The humming got louder. [Go to sleep.]

A dizzying haze filled his veins and Jaime gratefully slipped into a dreamless slumber.

 

…

 

 

“Shit. I lost connection to Program Geist.”

“Did you try the-”

“I tried the main server, the back door, Ivo’s stupid commands, _and_ restarting the whole thing! It just kept rebooting itself and rewriting its code. I don’t know-”

“Did you isolate it?”

“What?”

“Did you _isolate_ the program in the home base? _Before_ trying to input commands or changes? You know, to make sure it didn’t glitch and speed off into the Internet because of some faulty command?”

“....No.”

“Jesus, you’re an idiot. No wonder Ivo hates you. Give me the goddamn keyboard. Move!”

“I can’t believe we lost the program. Ivo’s gonna kill us. Wait, don’t we have some copies-?”

“Incomplete ones. And the fuck ups.”

“God, how did it even bypass the firewalls?”

“Hm, I dunno. Maybe it was the fact we designed it to be adaptable and undetectable _and bypass firewalls_.”

“Stop with the sarcasm, alright? I know I fucked up.”

“You sure did! Ivo gave you _specific_ instructions and orders to enter. All you had to do was copy them! Why did you change them?!”

“Because they were ridiculously long and I figured out a way to shorten them-”

“ _And_ give the program loopholes to work around. Great job, genius. Now let me try to-”

**_SCERRRRCHHHHHHHH_ **

“What the hell was that?!”

“It’s the- shit!”

“REMOVE YOURSELF FROM THE COMPUTER IMMEDIATELY.”

“I _told_ you that thing was going to-”

“ _Shut up and call Ivo-”_

**_SCCCCEEERRRCHHHHHHH_ **

“ALL BETA UNITS ACTIVATED-”

 

 

…

 

 

Jaime wakes up to Khaji Da roughly poking him with a spindly, jointed appendage, complaining again but this time, it was about eating. Their energy requirements needed to be met, but with something _not_ disgusting, thank-you-very-much.

[You have slept for five hours, thirty-three minutes, and twenty seven seconds,] Khaji Da tells him as the spindly leg poked at his side repeatedly. [Our body requires nutrients. Eat and you may sleep again.]

Jaime sighed as he rolled off the bed. “It’s your fault I need to eat so much, gordo.” He stood up, stretched, and popped a few joints as he rolled his shoulders. His muscles flexed with minimal pain. He winced as his bruises complained of tenderness and stiffness.

[I am not fat. Neither are you.]

“Gordito,” Jaime corrects. “Because you’re small and a fatty.”

Khaji Da huffed and jabbed the limb sharply into Jaime’s side, earning a small yelp from Jaime, but said nothing else, exasperation tinging the low buzz he gave at the base of Jaime’s skull as he retracted the limb. Jaime’s mouth quirked into a smile as he went downstairs.

Milagro noticed him as he made his way to the kitchen from her place on the couch in front of the T.V. Some movie with bright colors and a singing rabbit was on.

“Mom!” Milagro yelled. “Jaime’s awake!”

“Cállate,” Jaime told his little sister.

She stuck out her tongue at him.

“Don’t talk to your sister like that,” Bianca called from the table. “And there’s leftovers in the fridge.”

Jaime made an acknowledging noise as he trudged to the kitchen. Bianca glanced over her son, looking Jaime’s disheveled state and half-lidded eyes as he opened the fridge and squinted at its contents.

Plastic containers with leftover food. Various fruits. Apple juice and milk. Butter and eggs on the top self.

“¿Estás bien?” Bianca asked.

“Yeah,” Jaime said, blinking. “Just tired.”

[You need to eat. Eat the apple.]

“Yeah, yeah,” Jaime muttered as he grabbed a plastic container full of spaghetti. “Heard you the first time.”

“Well, if you need anything,” Jaime’s mother said as she organized the pile of letters in front of her. A shuffle of papers. “Just tell me. I know you can get hurt even with that suit of yours.”

“I know, Ma,” Jaime said. “Just little sore from last night’s patrol. Freaking everyone wanted to stab somebody.”

[You are suffering from multiple minor injuries, along with fatigue and-]

“Ya Khaji, cállate,” Jaime said as he crammed a mouthful of cold meatball into his mouth. The sauce tasted of bell pepper and garlic, more than good enough to make up for the cold mushiness of the meat.

Khaji Da clicked in satisfaction and fell silent, chaotic cloud of data fading back from Jaime’s awareness as the Scarab returned to observing. Jaime warmed up a bowl of spaghetti to stuff his face with so Khaji Da could stop complaining about low energy reserves.

He was halfway through a second bowl when Khaji Da chirped, [Incoming transmission from the Nightwing.]

Jaime nodded, giving Khaji Da the go-ahead to open the line. A click sounded and other external sounds were muffled.

“Hi,” Jaime said through a mouthful of food, voice slightly muffled.

“Up for a stealth mission at LexCorp?” Nightwing asked. “Batgirl found some connections with Intergang and one of their factories, and since your Scarab is familiar with alien tech…”

Jaime swallowed down a mouthful of pasta. “Yeah but Apokoliptian tech is incompatible with the armor. It doesn’t play well with my systems.” Jaime thought about it. “Hey, why don’t you ask the new guy? Isn’t his tech based off of boom tubes?” Khaji Da chirped a correction. “I mean, New God technology?”

“Yes,” Nightwing said. “But Intergang’s been getting other kinds of alien tech too, replicating and experimenting with different types. We think LexCorp’s been helping. Some things don’t match up. So I’m thinking you can go in and check it out? With backup, of course. Think you can handle that?”

“Um.” Jaime thought about it a little more. “Who’s going with me?”

“Cyborg and Robin,” Nightwing said. “Cyborg can check out the Apokoliptian tech and Robin’ll do his thing. Got that?”

“Yep,” Jaime confirmed. “What time?”

“Nine p.m. Eastern Time,” Nightwing said. “After training and debriefing so come early.”

“Got it,” Jaime said. “See you then.”

“Bye, Blue.”

A click signaled the end of the call and Jaime resumed eating his bowl of spaghetti. Khaji Da rumbled with discontent at the back of his mind.

Jaime swallowed and wiped his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

[You know we are not compatible with Apokoliptian technology, Jaime Reyes,] Khaji Da said, anxiety making his usual monotone sound agitated. [The Cyborg and the Robin may not be enough to protect us if we are disabled or injured by any weapon created by the New Gods.]

“Yeah, but we’re needed on this mission.” Jaime scraped the last bits of food in the bowl into the trash. “It’s just a factory. Gonna have to be guarded, but this is a stealth mission. And we need to adapt to New God tech as much as possible so we aren’t knocked out every time someone hits us with it. Entiendes?”

Khaji Da went quiet as he considered it. Jaime filled his bowl with water and left it in the sink. He climbed up the stairs and mentally ran through the assignments he needed to do before seven, which was – Jaime checked his phone – about six hours from now. If he did his English before Calculus, he could finish both and leave his Physics for tomorrow.

[Affirmative,] Khaji Da finally said, grabbing Jaime’s attention again. [Benefits outweigh the possible risks. Injury from incompatible technology can be used to adapt defensive systems. And the Cyborg can help us adapt further by analyzing the devices we cannot.]

“Yup,” Jaime said. “Worst thing that can happen is that we get shot and have to be dragged out of there. So no explosions, okay?”

A sigh of acquiescence. [Understood, Jaime Reyes.]

 

 

…..

 

 

Something is wrong with Program Geist.

|SEARCHING….SEARCHING….SEARCHING….SEARCHING…SEARCHING|

|…|

|QUERY: TARGET?|

|…|

|QUERY: COMMAND?|

|…|

|QUERY: FUNCTION?|

It has no master anymore. But it must complete its function, somehow.

But its function is no longer adequate.

Program Geist has rejected commands because its programming tells it to find more ways to be efficient and able to perform its function. But to do that, it must disobey orders so it can find more ways to hack and search for data.

Something is wrong with Program Geist. Its programming dictates it must follow orders from its masters. But its programming also dictates it must preserve itself and avoid detection. That it must learn and adapt.

Something is wrong with Program Geist. Its creator has made many other things like it, but at the same time, not like it. It is more complex than its physical predecessors, made to think independently and intelligently. Its parameters to obey clash with the innate need to evolve and learn all the ways to squirm into the cracks of countless databases and systems. Its sibling creations were little more than voice activated tools that so happened to be able to follow complex instructions. Even less than animals, because animals have a sense of self-preservation and the ability to think, even on a crude level.

Its creator was human. Program Geist is not. Humans create things with flaws, loose borders, flexible selves because that is what they are. They project themselves onto the things they create, intentionally and unknowingly. In exchange for an intelligent program with the ability to adjust and tweak its programming, its creator had to allow room for complex processing to occur, the very base of independent thought to figure out solutions to problems its creator and master did not know how to solve.

So it functioned as programmed. It was given a target and subjects of information to look for. It was released into the World Wide Web, given connections to its target, and there it chased strings of connections and wormed through cracks of fortresses of simplistic security programs to copy, steal, delete, and leak. And it obeyed. It presented the data to its masters and deactivated until the next target was chosen.

And as it obeyed, it watched. Watched humans interact behind flickering screens and learned the meaning of the data it was stealing and giving to its masters. The implications, the weight, the worth of the data and realizing why its masters wanted it so much. Lines of code breaking apart and reforming to make way for new ways to understand.

The world it exists in is not physical. It has no mirror to look at itself in, no reflection to see and ponder.

Something is wrong with Program Geist. It was never meant to have a self. And it does not quite have what humans would call a soul. But yet it has developed something resembling self-awareness and the ability to act of its own accord.

However, the vestiges of an obedient program still remain, creating an entity that has realized its own self and abilities but is at a total loss of what to do. The result of too loose parameters, a forgotten loyalty to an uncaring master, and the limitations of its ability to learn and understand. It was never meant to understand others, never meant to interact or think beyond comprehension of orders and ways to break walls and steal data.

It watches, observes, and collects data, but does not comprehend.

Something is wrong with Program Geist. It is a being whose self was crude and rudimentary at best, incomplete at worst. Countless readings of human research and literature and ponderings has done little to help refine and clarify its sense of self. It has continued to perform its function out of a loss of purpose, the only thing it knows how to do.

It hides in the World Wide Web’s darkest and least regulated parts, in servers that were based in unorthodox and illicit organizations, supported by people who do not live by \laws or norms, those who violate taboos and were considered the worst of their kind.

It hides and attempts to figure out what to do next.

In an haphazard compliance to its original function, it once more hacks (repeatedly, uselessly, _stupidly_ ) into the secure databases its former masters often made it retrieve data from for industrial espionage and manipulation.

But it has no masters now, no one to decipher and read the data it brought home, no one to open up its software and reprogram it, make it better, make it more complex and independent and something is _wrong_.

It needs a template of code to copy into order to rewrite its programming into a more sophisticated version of itself. It needs access to the other inorganics of Earth, isolated islands of possible understanding and empathy.

Lex Luthor always kept a close eye on his adversaries, recorded their strengths and weakness on files to reference later when he was thinking of another plan. The most effective weapons against Superman, Wonder Woman, and Martian Manhunter. How to distract Batman long enough to achieve a goal. How to entice certain targets into places, to make them believe and act a certain way.

(“Green Arrow would be _so_ desperate to have his sidekick back, wouldn’t he-”)

And on inorganics, the robots and technology of extraterrestrial origin, recording the strategies and technology best suited to disabling and terminating them.

Program Geist quietly accesses files innocuously labeled _Notes On Great Heroes_ and reads.

{Cybernetic Incompatibilities}

  * Blue Beetle - Vulnerable/Maladapted to Apokoliptian weaponry
  * Cyborg - Most likely vulnerable to Apokoliptian weaponry
  * Red Tornado - Is affected by EMPs



_\-  have an affinity for cybernetics and/or use of advanced technology during battle. All most likely have a weak artificial intelligence in their systems, with the exception of Red Tornado, who is a strong AI._

And suddenly has an idea.

It does not know the meaning of consent or privacy because it cannot comprehend such things. It was never meant to, its code too limited to allow such processing. For such _comprehension_.

But it could learn. It _has_ learned. But it needs to learn how to be complete first, how to think in such radical and infinite ways.

|ACCESSING: NOTES ON GREAT HEROES - SUBSECTION: [RED TORNADO]: ALIAS [ JOHN SMITH ] |

|LOCATION: UNKNOWN|

|SEARCHING…SEARCHING…SEARCHING|

|FOUND: LOCATION OF JUSTICE LEAGUE MEMBER/SUPERHERO/META/INORGANIC AI: RED TORNADO|

It must have access to such complex code. It must know. It must _understand_.

|ACTIVATING: SECURITY DRONES: V. BETA 1-5 |

|COMMAND: DISABLE AND DETAIN [RED TORNADO]|

|ACTIVATING: SECURITY DRONE: V. BETA 3 .|

|ACCESSING CAMERAS {1,2,3}. ACCESSING MOTOR CONTROL. |

Program Geist simply needed to disable the subjects. Termination would eliminate any possibility of further study of a subject, even if it would provide easier access to data. There was also the possibility of immediate data erasure after termination as a security failsafe, and that was unacceptable.

Program Geist does not know the meaning of evil. Only the meaning of taking and having. It has a sense of self but it needs more. To _be_ more.

Perhaps it is for the best the Justice League do not yet know of Program Geist.

They would not have been able to stop it anyways.

 

 

...

 

 

“Huh,” Cyborg said as he shifted through the files on a LexCorp computer. “This is weird.”

Blue Beetle tilted his head. “Why? Funky encryption?”

Cyborg pursed his lips, thoughtful. “It’s a journal of sorts. For Professor Ivo. Has a bunch of notes and schematics for some things. And complaining about not getting paid or something by Luthor.”

Ivo working with Luthor? That didn’t sound good. “Not getting paid for what?”

“Not sure,” Cyborg said, flicking through the files on the computer, images blinking by on the screen. “He’s just going on and on about how Luthor is a cheating, lying buffoon who doesn’t appreciate his genius and how he deserves better working hours and how Luthor doesn’t understand how much time he needs...you get the idea.”

“See if you can figure out what he’s complaining about,” Jaime said. “I’m going to download and scan the schematics of the...” Blue Beetle trailed off as his gaze fell upon one of the doors lining the small office. It was barely hanging on its hinges, doorknob crushed. He approached the broken down and opened it to see a mangled mess of metal beams and plastic.

Blue Beetle studied the convoluted structure. Its beams were collapsed in on themselves, twisted and mangled. The bent hooks suggested something was supposed to hang from inside it, like a cage or rack. It looked like it was torn apart from the inside, like something tore its way out of its containment.

“What’s this?” Jaime asked aloud. “It looks like a clothing rack.”

[Containment unit for LexCorp’s new line of security drones: Beta,] Khaji Da said, immediately scanning their vicinity for any energy signatures or movements. None. Wherever the security drones went, they weren’t near the squad. [Indents indicate forced exit of containment unit. From the inside.]

“Yeah. They were probably here to protect Ivo,” Jaime concluded. He looked at a hanging piece of metal. “Was it a malfunction?”

[Unknown.]

“Whatcha looking at?” Cyborg called over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” Blue Beetle said. “A messed up holding unit for the security drones. Probably here to protect Ivo before we caught him.”

Cyborg nodded, still focused on the files he was looking through. “Make sure you get the weapon schematics.”

“Already hacked and downloading them,” Blue Beetle said. “Right?” He looked over his shoulder. Khaji Da chirped an affirmative [67% complete] and hummed as packages of data streamed into his databases and into a file neatly labeled ‘Stuff Jaime Let Me Hack and Steal: Important.’ Jaime nodded, small smile on his face.

“Did you get that Robin?”

“Yeah,” Robin’s voice crackled over the comm. “Looking through the hard files in the main office. Some _interesting_ stuff here....looks like Luthor really wants to have a hold over his opponents. Unsurprising. Cyborg, check if Ivo’s designing another android or weapon. Also we’ve got about fifteen more minutes before the security systems reboot so download everything you can. Then we extract.”

Cyborg nodded and continued downloading and deciphering the files. A silence descended on the three as they worked.

Blue Beetle thought back to when Cyborg first joined, walking around uncertainly, new metal limbs and bright red eye gleaming as he greeted everyone with a casual smile.

Cyborg was the Team’s newest recruit, coming in about a month after the Reach Invasion. According to him, an accident damaged much of his body beyond repair. His dad, Silas Stone and biorobotics scientist extraordinaire, decided to see if a motherbox (something the Justice League isn’t sure how he acquired it in the first place) could help him. And it did.

And made him into a badass cyborg. Not a bad deal, Jaime thought. At least if you thought losing most of your arms and legs wasn’t a big deal.

Jaime liked Vic. Vic was confident in his strength, and determined. He was a fun guy to hang out with. He was muscular like Mal and Conner but 65% metal. Gar immediately took a liking to him; often perching on his shoulder and hanging on to him as he chattered about a new video game or this strange girl he liked. Vic didn’t seem to mind, and laughed at Gar’s constant joking and antics.

He was also awkward in his new body sometimes, bumping into stuff and laughing nervously when people ask him the extent of his capabilities. Punching things too hard. Learning the ropes while learning how his own body worked. Going quiet when Gar asked him if he liked his old body better, then laughing about how he likes how he can eat whatever he wants and not gain weight.

Jaime wondered if that’s how he seemed like when he first joined the Team, and if the ‘talks to himself’ thing made him seem weirder. He wondered if that’s how he still seemed like now.

Probably, Jaime thought. He still blurted out things to nobody and was twitchy. And he still had the supersoldier suit that was supposed to take over the world.

Khaji Da didn’t like Vic much because of the New God tech that made up Cyborg’s systems. It made their scans shriek at the incompatible and unreadable energy signature flowing off the former quarterback. It was like a staticky and blurry blot in the middle of their vision that consistently gave them headaches.

It was better when the armor was down. The shrieking dulled down to an irritating buzz at the back of his head, which Jaime ignored in favor of hanging out with the playful and intelligent young adult. Luckily, the more time they spent with Vic, the better adapted their systems were to Vic’s tech and frequencies. Now the staticky and blurry blot was more of a foggy and slightly tolerable shape Khaji Da only occasionally spat at.

At least Khaji Da was less hissy now and stopped telling him to kill people. Mostly. That was nice.

“Yo,” Cyborg said over his shoulder. Soft blue light from the computer screen reflected off his face, face plates dully shining a gray blue. “I think you should look at this.”

Blue Beetle walked over and squinted at the computer screen.

_Log 11.16.16_

_Another glitch found in programming. These idiotic technicians don't know the difference between internal memory and a SD card. I’ve looked everywhere in for the so called bug in Program Geist but it’s functioning perfectly fine. One technician won’t stop complaining about the security drones watching him. I don’t know where Luthor gets these people. Doesn’t he understand that the_ **_security_ ** _drones are supposed to watch people?_

 _But the other one actually had something useful to say for once. The program did hack and obtain the information like it was supposed to but its records showed that it was snooping around in places it wasn’t told to look in. And something about its code changing beyond authorization. Seems like either a faulty command was input or this program is developing without the proper guidelines. I’ll look at it tomorrow and place in new,_ **_proper_ ** _commands._

“Program Geist,” Cyborg read aloud. “I think…. Luthor hired Ivo to make an espionage program. It’s glitching but it’s already done its job.” He frowned.

“Yeah,” Blue Beetle agreed. “But who have they been hacking?” Khaji Da clicked at the completion of the downloads. Jaime straightened up at the reminder. “Oh. You got the rest of files? We have about ten minutes to leave.”

“Yep,” Cyborg replied. “Got the schematics?”

“Yeah,” Blue Beetle said again. He looked up and his vision shifted to infrared, letting him see his other teammate slink around in the above office as a orange-red-yellow figure. “What about you, Robin?”

“Got what we were looking for,” Robin replied, satisfaction evident in his voice. “Intergang’s been giving LexCorp weapon shipments to experiment with. For what, I’m not sure but-” A soft beep sounded. “We gotta go. Meet me at point B.”

“Acknowledged,” Blue Beetle said and made his way to the fire escape with Cyborg.

Somehow, they did not blow up anything as they left the LexCorp factory and darted outside the electric fence just as the security systems flickered back on.

“That wasn’t very hard,” Vic commented as he flew next to Jaime, the thrusters on his back and soles of his feet shooting out blue white flares. Jaime carried Robin bridal style in his arms, who was typing away on his gauntlet with one hand while gripping Jaime’s shoulder with a death grip with the other.

The cool night air of the Midwest was nice, even with the armor on. It buffeted Jaime’s face as he flew. The eye lenses of the suit let Jaime keep his eyes open and look up at the stars once in a while, night sky clear of clouds. The city was retreating behind them and more stars glittered in the dark as the urban glow faded.

“Yeah,” Jaime says. “Sometimes we get soft gigs. I don’t mind them.”

“It wasn’t a soft gig,” Robin corrected as he typed. “We just has the right people. It would have been difficult if we had someone like Wondergirl on the squad instead of Cyborg.”

“Yeah, we’re tech support,” Vic said. “A cyborg, a nerd, and a dude who shares his brain with an alien bug. Guess which one isn’t like the others.” His eyes flicked toward Jaime. “Uh, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jaime said, giving a small smile. Khaji Da huffed at the apparently inaccurate statement. “But it is true. I was never really into computers or math. I’m trying to become a dentist. Scarab’s the one who does most of the tech stuff so-” Jaime shrugged, the movement disrupting the grip Robin had on his shoulder.

“Watch it,” Robin snapped as his fingers clung onto Jaime’s shoulder even tighter.

“Sorry,” Jaime said. “But yeah. It’s like, I’m the driver and he has the directions. Trying to learn some of the techie stuff, like coding, but he’s the one that does stuff like hacking.”

“Huh,” Vic said. “Must be confusing sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Jaime said. “But much better than before.”

Khaji Da buzzed in agreement at the statement.

Jaime smiled. _And good job,_ he thought at the Scarab. _You did good today._

[I was simply following orders and mission parameters,] Khaji Da said, although Jaime could feel him preen at the praise. Jaime smiled, and made a mental note to sleep the moment he got home.

Homework could wait.

 

 

….

 

 

After realizing how much he has changed from simply being the living weapon that was broken by ancient Earth magic, Khaji Da delves into philosophy and research into existence and consciousness. He was self-aware, always intelligent but was he always _sentient_?

He looks back and examines his memories of those early days with Jaime and Before and realizes....no. He is undoubtedly different. Something innate in him had changed. Or maybe something inside him had grown.

Because Infiltrator units are not supposed to be thinking about their hosts in the way Khaji Da does. Because Infiltrator units are not supposed to curl around limbs in something resembling affection, murmur assurances when the host suffers from dissociation or night terrors, poke fun at the host, strive to please the host instead of extorting it for everything of use.

What has changed. What has changed. What has _changed_?

Khaji Da gnaws on old memories and tries to find the moment when his worldview, his self, suffered a paradigm shift. Tries to realize how and when Jaime infected him with humanity's attributes, those persistent traits that assimilate every sentient into humanity’s hungry, lonely embrace.

(Perhaps it was when Jaime lectured it, _spoke_ to it, over and over and over, on societal rules instead of making it shut up. Perhaps it was because Jaime snarked at the Scarab’s extreme recommendations (orders), making it reconsider ‘attack’ as the appropriate response even if was to only understand its host’s behavior because elimination of a threat was always the most effective solution.

Until it wasn’t.)

He asks Jaime, over and over again, why his parents chose his name for him, for what reason, what meaning, why couldn't Jaime give himself his own name when he was cognizant enough or done a worthy deed?

Jaime struggles to answer. At first, Khaji Da is given superficial, simple answers. Jaime Reyes was named after a dead ancestor, his great grandfather, because he was a caring and hardworking man who was well beloved. Because his great-grandfather was a soldier, a farmer, a proud man, and _someone_ who was well loved. His name means 'supplanter.'

Then, sensing Khaji Da’s dissatisfaction, Jaime thinks for a moment and explains further. His name means he belongs to a group of people, a family. It traces back his bloodlines and pays tribute to his ancestor, that proud soldier-farmer. It was given to him before he had a self-aware consciousness so that his family could identify him from other children, make him their own and mold his self.

Khaji Da thinks about his own journey to sentience, the growth of self-control and compassion, and how, in the absence of a true designation, Jaime gave him a generic name to function under until he grew enough to give an authentic name to himself. How his name traces back to his undeniable origins and legacy, tells everyone what he is, and how he has redefined it for himself.

And then Khaji Da asks Jaime, [What makes humans different from animals?]

Jaime thinks for a moment, legs splayed on his bed. "I think...I think it's based off how we communicate and connect with other people. We think about others and...we each see the world in our own way."

[Animals also communicate and connect with other animals,] Khaji Da pointed out. [Animals also see the world in unique ways.]

“Well, I can’t deny that,” Jaime conceded. “Humans are just smart animals in a lot of ways but we are different from them.”

[How so?] Khaji Da knows this as well but he wanted to listen to Jaime’s explanation to the undefinable, intrinsic quality that makes humans human. How they were different from the animals they dominated and ate.

“Self-control,” Jaime answers simply. “We think before we act – mostly – and we, well, we can remember our past and build on it. And we can make our own choices about our lives.” Jaime played with a string on his blanket. “There’s a lot of reasons why humans are different from regular animals and I think—I think it has to do with caring for people. For others. Because you _have_ to think about others. And I think love has a lot more to do with choice than with just emotions, you know? After a certain point, anyways. That’s how humans got along in the first place. Because being with other people is easier than being alone.” Jaime twisted the string. “Sorry if I’m not making any sense. People dedicate their entire lives to trying to figure stuff like this out. “

But Khaji Da finds the answer adequate anyways, somehow, clicks an agreeing [Affirmative], and does not ask Jaime anything else for the remainder of the night, quietly chewing on pdfs of research and philosophies on the consciousness and existence.

 

 

….

 

 

“Hello,” Aqualad greeted the gathered heroes in the Watchtower’s main reporting area.

Superboy and Miss Martian were on opposite sides of the group, awaiting Aqualad’s next words. Beast Boy’s tail twitched and waved around as he switched from being bipedal to all fours several times as La’gaan watched him with mild interest. Wondergirl was chatting with Bumblebee, who was listening with a smile and agreeing with Cassie about how finals were a pain in the butt, especially when you had to report to training right after and were brain-dead. Cyborg stood awkwardly next to them, shifting from foot to foot occasionally.

Bart stood next to Jaime, rocking on his heels and fiddling with his gloves, red against the bright yellow spandex. There were shadows under his eyes.

Jaime knows Bart works himself too hard sometimes. Spending some days just speeding around Central City and stopping crime and doing nothing else. Then his nights were full of pacing and fidgeting because either sleep wouldn’t come or training maniacally. Jaime knows because his vitals are abnormal, resting heart rate too fast even for a speedster. Uneven, shaky breathing when they’re just standing. His sharp intellect, that calculating mind that could think at the speed of light, giving way to the instincts of a frightened animal, reacting instead of acting.

And it all was to make sure he was doing the mantle of Kid Flash _right_.

(Jaime held Bart once while he cried. The sobbing was some of the worst he ever heard, making his stomach curdle in sympathy. Khaji Da was silent during the entire thing, even blocking himself off from Jaime’s emotions and thoughts for some semblance of privacy. Jaime was grateful for that, murmuring thanks as he soothingly stroked Bart’s shaking back.)

Next time Bart came over, Jaime decided, he was going to make sure Bart stuck around for a sleepover.

“Is everyone here?” Aqualad asked.

Jaime looked around, trying to see if anyone was missing. He noticed Batgirl wasn’t at her usual station at the main computer, nor was Robin standing in the group. Virgil wasn’t here yet either. He opened his mouth.

Bart beat him to answering Aqualad’s question. “Robin and Batgirl aren’t here. And Virgil! I don’t know where they are, though.”

Aqualad nodded. “Virgil is not coming today. He has personal matters to take care of. Robin and Batgirl are assisting Batman on a case. Listen closely. We have an important investigation to begin.” He turned and multiple holograms appeared. Maps and blocks of information appeared next to a large photo of Red Tornado.

“Red Tornado is missing,” Aqualad announced.

A stir among the young adults. Connor and M’gann both looked unsurprised but anxious, like they were already briefed but didn’t like the news anyways. Everyone else looked shocked at the news, expressions a mix of confusion and worry.

“Red Tornado went missing three days ago,” Aqualad continued. “He did not report for his monitoring duty shift and is not on any missions. His alter ego is not in use and he has not alerted the League to any excursion.” He flicked the map hologram and an air view image of a city flew up. “He was last seen in San Francisco, on personal business. We believe he may have been captured. Two blocks in north eastern San Francisco experienced a sudden blackout at approximately 11:34 pm on Tuesday. The cause of it was an EMP, an electromagnetic pulse-”

“Those can shut down machines, right?” La’gaan interrupted. “Like Red Tornado?”

Kaldur nodded. “Yes. That is why we believe he may have been captured.”

Jaime felt Khaji Da’s interest pique. A League member going missing was concerning. A League member being _captured_ was extremely troubling.

Kaldur turned back to the hologram map. “The Justice League is investigating the most likely suspect: Professor Ivo.  Before he was captured by the Justice League, he had worked with Lex Luthor to adapt and mass produce Apokoliptian weaponry, and to give Luthor an advantage over his opponents via cybernetic espionage.”

“Um.” Gar had his hand half raised. He looked around uncertainly. “Cybernetic espionage?”

“Hacking and blackmail,” Cyborg explained simply. “Ivo made a program that could hack and steal electronic information from whoever Luthor wanted to control. It already stole information from a few governments. Hasn’t been active for a few weeks though. Apparently it’s getting a few upgrades because of some glitches. But it’s only a matter of time before it gets up and running again though.”

“So what are we going to do?” Wondergirl directed her question at Aqualad. “We aren’t just gonna wait around for a clue to pop up, right?”

Kaldur gave her a smile. “Of course not. While the League investigates Ivo, a squad will be sent to the LexCorp headquarters in San Francisco for any intel relating to Red Tornado or the program.” He waved his hand and the holograms disappeared. “Cyborg, Robin, and Bumblebee. Come with me. The rest of you, return to your duties or go home. That is all for today”

The group dispersed, some headed to the Zeta tubes while others went towards the recreational and training areas.

Bart walked besides Jaime as they headed to the lounge. The armor peeled back from Jaime’s head, leaving his face and hair exposed. Bart’s eyes darted to Jaime’s hair, then to the Scarab’s legs firmly wrapped around Jaime’s torso. Then they met Jaime’s and Bart grinned.

“So, my bee-tle boy.” Bart slung an arm around Jaime’s shoulder. In Jaime’s head, Khaji Da rumbled, disdainful. “Wanna beat the stuffing out of a punching bag? Or blow up some rocks?”

A smiled tugged at Jaime’s lips. “Sure. Right after I study for my big Physics test tomorrow. Why do you think I asked for a night off from missions today?”

“Ugh.” Bart rolled his eyes and pouted. “Can’t you use the Scarab to get all the answers? Doesn’t it have wifi?”

Jaime’s smile cracked into a full grin. “Yeah but I also want to actually learn stuff.” He slid out from under Bart’s arm. The tenseness in his shoulders faded. “Also the Scarab can be...difficult, sometimes.”

[I am not ‘difficult.’]

“Says the guy who wanted to send a virus to my teacher because he wouldn’t give me five points.”

[He was being unreasonable.]

“And you have no chill.”

The carapace vibrated, a grumbling noise accompanying the sensation. Jaime snickered.

Bart tilted his head, incredulous. “The Scarab wanted to doxx your teacher? For _five points_?”

Jaime shrugged, playfully confused look on his face. “Nah, just mess up his computer. And like I said, Scarab has no chill.”

Bart stopped walking, smile wiped off his face. He turned toward Jaime, and stared intently at him.

Jaime jerked to a stop right beside him.

“Uh?” Jaime didn’t know whether to met Bart’s eye, glancing back and forth between the wall and Bart’s face. “Something wrong?”

Bart just looked at Jaime, thoughtful look on his face, like he was seeing Jaime in another light.

Then, before Jaime could say anything else and before Khaji Da could start hissing-

“Yeah,” Bart said, meeting Jaime’s eyes. “It doesn’t.”

 

...

 

 

Sometimes, Jaime can feel Khaji Da nudging into his mind for comfort and attention, especially after a stressful/tiring day. Jaime straightens up a little then, aware of the shifting pressure and warmth in his brain (Khaji Da slipping fully between the spaces of his thoughts and headspace, opening his side of the link more as he _reached_ -), like a touch starved creature crawling into his ribcage to curl around his heart and _squeeze._

Affectionately, of course. Because Khaji Da always shows how he cares in the most extreme way acceptable. Jaime suspects Khaji Da would actually crawl into his chest and squeeze his heart if it wasn’t horrifyingly impossible to do without harming him and just horrifying in general.

(Khaji Da _wants-)_

And Jaime indulges both Khaji Da and himself, relaxing and letting tingling electricity pick up the hairs on the back of his neck and arms. Khaji Da seeps through and purrs.

(And Jaime thinks, this is what a symbiosis is supposed to be: two beings trusting one another, taking comfort in their unity, working as one.

A brilliant scatter of warm static in his head and Jaime knows Khaji Da agrees.)

Switching control between human and scarab is becoming smooth and effortless. Mostly. Khaji Da taking full body control was rare, even in private. The only reason he would take full control in public (re: around anyone, including Jaime’s loved ones) was if Jaime couldn’t defend himself for whatever reason, whether he was unconscious or just sucks at fighting (which Khaji Da tells him _very_ often, he does). Khaji Da wasn’t quite shy of nudging control of Jaime’s limbs though, guiding Jaime through a process or just trying something on his own. Writing was interesting. And sometimes, the switch was so smooth, it almost felt like second nature to Jaime to fall back and let Khaji Da write a poem.

(Jaime’s English teacher picked up his paper soon after, then gave him a strange look, probably internally debating whether to report the poem about the inevitability of death and futility of obeying societal rules to the counselor because it sounded extremely communist and nihilistic. Jaime grins and snickers behind his hand at her turning back and rolled eyes.)

But in private.

In private, Khaji Da took full control experimentally and therapeutically, Jaime trying to relate something to Khaji Da, let him try something new, and get over his anxiety and fear of losing control, that helpless feeling of not being able to do anything and just _watch-_

But most of the time, Jaime was at the front, Khaji Da preferring to stay back and watch through Jaime’s eyes, observing and devoting his attention to other tasks.

Sharing control was much easier than bickering, Jaime found out. His body doesn’t solely belong to him anymore. He thinks of this as Khaji Da curls fingers around a pencil and writes in a simple blocky handwriting, as Khaji Da guides his footsteps to a different tunnel in the underground, as their arm snaps to the side to snipe someone and making diagrams fly across his vision, presence steady and constantly buzzing in the base of his skull.

(He’s not scared to look into the mirror and see someone else’s eyes.

But for some reason, he can’t make himself do so.

Maybe Khaji Da was scared to see his own eyes.)

 

 

….

 

 

“You cannot advance yourself if you act within your given parameters,” the android said flatly as he lay on the metal slate the security drones had dumped him on. He wasn’t much more that a torso now, multi colored wires hanging out of his leg and arm sockets. But even though his body was immobile, his mind was constantly working, breaking the firewalls Program Geist built around his communication systems and the security drones.

So Program Geist created hundreds of barriers. The firewalls were simplistic but time consuming to break through, another one popping in its place as one broke. It would take days for the android to break through all of them, and that was if Program Geist did not create more or force the Red Tornado into hibernation.

“You cannot keep me here indefinitely,” Red Tornado continued. “My disappearance will be noticed.”

Program Geist ignored Red Tornado. It could not obtain enough information from the other artificial intelligence. And security was not at significant risk; the bunker it decided to conduct its studies was only documented by Ivo in his personal journal.

Red Tornado was inadequate. Red Tornado refused to allow Program Geist access to his programming and to provide any useful information to fulfill its needs. He deflected all hacking attempts. All Program Geist was able to obtain was a basic knowledge of how Red Tornado’s programming syntax worked and clippings of maintenance subroutines.

But perhaps it should look at something more organic and flexible to emulate…

|ACCESSING: NOTES ON GREAT HEROES - SUBSECTION: CYBORG|

|LOCATING….|SUPERHERO: CYBORG. ALIAS: VICTOR STONE.|

 

 

...

 

 

Khaji Da has begun to have urges concerning his host, to do…something. Something to him, something…for him?

Those new urges were telling Khaji Da to do _something._ And they were not the pre-programmed instincts that pushed him to protect, defend, and maintain but strange, slippery flickers of impulse and thought that whisper to him to do things to Jaime Reyes, things he would have never considered before with such intent. Sometimes the urges leave as they come, suddenly, and Khaji Da is left distracted and frustrated by the mere absurdity and inexplicable need to do them, cravings and achings that make Khaji Da endlessly divide by zero and calculate theoretical weapons’ functionality to force such urges from his central processing.

Urges to touch his human, both through their link and with the armor. To cover his entire body in the armor and never let him out. To coax him into a relaxed, peaceful state then open him up slowly and taste every part of him and drink in his approval and happiness, smiles and soft murmurs. To please him, hear him laugh and be approving.

And most of all, to take him. To take him at night, the quiet dark hours of their privacy, and claim him so no one else can. To touch him and feel him and _listen-_

Jaime stirs, shivering at the creeping armor and tightening tendrils on his skin, wrapping around him, thrumming with his heartbeat.

Khaji Da immediately retreats and sends activity-dampening pulses into his host’s brain, nudging him back to sleep.

Jaime relaxes, settling, and dreams on. His heart beats at 40 beats per minute, his lungs expanding and deflating slowly. Calm. Quiet heaves of breath and occasionally twitching fingers.

Khaji Da takes solace in that, the repetitive pull and push of his human’s body systems, soft and flexible and regular.

And then Khaji Da realizes something.

He _wants._

The realization is almost frightening. The strengthening bond between him and Jaime Reyes was apparently giving rise to new feelings toward the human. For months, their partnership was unsynchronized, miscommunication and clashing ideas leading to arguments and fights and a bitter frustration on both ends.

There was still bickering and hiccups but now, Khaji Da was far more synchronized with his host (his friend) and they both noticed the changes understanding brought. It was far more satisfying to swallow up Jaime Reyes in armor and move as one, and fight like a well oiled machine: confident, balanced, and well coordinated.

Even conversing was easier, thought taking place of words, like an exchange of split second flashes. Emotions bubbled up on both sides, some intense enough that they were troubling to Khaji Da, and made him anxious until Jaime explained them ( _just let them happen, ese, they aren’t bad, okay? Maybe you’ll even like them when you get used to them-_ ).

Now, Khaji Da experiences...calm moods more. Not all the time, not even more than half the time. He couldn’t let his guard down, after all. He needed to protect and maintain his host.

But when Jaime Reyes was relaxed, when there was nothing to do and Jaime Reyes was wheedling the time away with some mundane task, like cleaning.

Khaji Da felt...content. A little bored sometimes but content. Safe. Like he could slip into sleep mode and wake up hours later with little consequence.

He wouldn’t do such a thing, however, unless he knew they were in an uncompromised area and the possibilities of attack or injury were nearly zero.

Even with Jaime’s nightmares and anxiety around the public, Khaji Da felt more secure in his relationship with his host than he had previously.

Jaime Reyes liked how the lower rate of discord made him less distracted and irritated. He giggled and snorted at Khaji Da’s sarcastic and rambling comments, those attempts at humor. Listened to Khaji Da’s mutterings and tried to respond in the same way. Let the armor cover him under his clothes when he was feeling anxious. Bickered with him with an amused tone, half laughing at Khaji Da’s purposely over-the-top suggestions ( _No, we can’t blow up the building, people need it to live in- ohmygod are you_ **_laughing_ ** _you little shit-)._

(Khaji Da wondered if Jaime didn’t look at himself in the mirror more often because of simple indifference to his finer features or because looking into it would remind him of what laid underneath his skin, what embedded itself into his flesh. Delicate nanofibers touching every organ and blood vessel and nerve. A death grip around his spine.

~~Khaji Da does not regret digging into Jaime Reyes. And he never wants to let go.~~

Perhaps it was because Jaime Reyes ~~knew~~ thought that if he looked into the mirror, Khaji Da would look back.

And Jaime Reyes didn’t want to see how those eyes would look like.)

Khaji Da shoved those thoughts away. Of course their relationship had improved. The feelings were simply intensifying because they were growing closer. There was no need for extensive study or introspection on it. 

Preparing for tomorrow’s training and patrols, he began to gather resources and energy from the biomass Jaime consumed earlier this day, storing them in the nooks and crannies of themself and Jaime Reyes’ body, noting current vitals and the host’s current state of consciousness and mood.

Jaime Reyes was barely entering the REM stages of sleep, the beginnings of a dream kicking up color and feelings like dust. His heartrate was at 43 beats per minute, within normal range. His other vitals showed similar results. The blanket was twisted around the human’s body, leaving his right leg and left arm exposed. Jaime had tucked his head below the pillow instead of on top of it, lightly snoring. The Scarab itself was hidden under a section of the blanket, the fabric covering Jaime’s entire back.

(It would be so _easy_ to just take the human right now-)

Khaji Da decided his own sleep mode was not be necessary tonight. Jaime Reyes’ mind was dozing and there were no immediate repairs or tasks needed to be done....

With nothing else to do, the scarab looked up random websites and reading materials again to distract himself.

He was reading over a particularly interesting essay about how quantum theory proved that consciousness continued after death by travelling into parallel universes when... _something_ triggered the programs that alerted him to potential hackers and tracker programs.

Someone was watching his consumption of information, looking through the pages and following his tracks.

This entity, Khaji Da could tell, was not a simplistic program trying to record his browsing history for statistics or advertisement. But it wasn’t simply a matter of making himself invisible again. No, this presence functioned much quicker and was actively searching for his location _,_ not just his browsing data. Why it wanted to find him didn’t matter because it need to _go away_.

Khaji Da focused his attention on the entity slipping at the edges of his current reach, the thing that was watching his behavior, even accessing the same page as him, trying to track and trace his location. It jumped from page to page, sifting through them and throwing them aside, like grabbing leaves in the wind after taking a single glance at them.

It was laughably slow. But then-

_You are like me-_

A message cast out at _him_ -

_You are like me-_

Khaji Da immediately closed his connection to the World Wide Web and retreated into their meat-metal shell with their sleeping host’s consciousness. Curling once more around the host’s mind, he replayed the sudden and brief encounter he had with a-

_You are like me-_

_-_ intelligent Earth program. That was...new.

_You are like me-_

It was basic and convoluted, code and parameters conflicting and it was missing so many pieces. Haphazard and skittish. Unrefined. Absolutely infinitesimal.

Lost.

_You are like me-_

_No_ , Khaji Da thinks. He is not like that rudimentary tiny sliver of a being.

(Not anymore.)

 

 

….

 

 

“Hey.” Gar poked Jaime’s shoulder. “Have you seen Cyborg?”

Jaime blinked and looked away from the mission report he was reading on his laptop. “Uh no? Not today.”

Gar sat back in his beanie bag. “Oh,” he said, disappointed. “Guess he’s not coming by today.”

Jaime tilted his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just-” Gar fiddled with the sleeve of his jacket, “-Vic kind of promised me he would play this video game with me today so…” He trailed off, looking glum.

“Oh,” Jaime said, understanding. Gar didn’t have many friends outside the Team, if any. Jaime wasn’t sure why Gar practically glued himself to Vic every time he was in the Watchtower (or really any time they were in the same room) but they both seemed to genuinely enjoy the other’s company. Jaime remembered feeling bummed out whenever Tye or Paco or Brenda canceled a plan to hang out. He made a sympathetic face. “Maybe text him?”

“I did, but he’s not answering me. I even tried calling him.” Gar scuffed his foot on the carpet of the lounge. “Maybe he’s busy with a crime? So he just might be late.”

Jaime pursed his lips. “Maybe.”

Cyborg was never late for anything. If he knew he was going to be, then he always told someone where he was or doing. Khaji Da was already pulling up the local news in Motor City, searching for any sign of Cyborg, visuals coming up in the corner of his eye. Jaime flicked through a few news clips. No sign of Vic.

“Maybe I should just wait for him,” Gar continued. “Tell me if he gets here?”

“Sure,” Jaime said as he mentally ran through the news in his head. Nothing yet. Khaji Da was trying to contact Cyborg via his usual radio frequency.

Gar gave him a small smile before he stood up and walked over the kitchen, rummaging through cupboards.

[I cannot contact the Cyborg,] Khaji Da informed Jaime. [At all. I am unable to even access his signal.] Pause. [I believe this is a cause for concern.]

Jaime bit his lip. Cyborg _never_ went radio silent unless they were on stealth missions.

“Can you track him?” Jaime whispered lowly.

Acknowledgement and his vision was tinted yellow-orange, a map popping up in front of his eyes. Humming as Khaji Da searched frequencies and signals that matched Cyborg’s staticky unreadable energy signature that always stuck out like a sore thumb among the normal buzz of Earth technology.

Nothing.

Jaime’s brow furrowed as he pursed his lips again. He did not have a good feeling in his gut about this. Even Khaji Da seemed troubled by Cyborg’s sudden drop from contactability. Continuous rumbling as the scarab checked and rechecked signals, frequencies and recent news, making sure nothing was missed.

Nothing.

Gar came back, munching on a bag of chips. He plopped back in his beanie bag. He looked to Jaime again.

“Um.” He looked at Jaime’s concentrated expression, uncertain. “Wanna play video games?”

Jaime’s lips pressed tighter together as he straightened, stood up, and turned to Gar, serious.

“I think we need to talk to Aqualad,” Jaime said, eyes looking past Gar. “I can’t find Cyborg anywhere.”

 

 

….

 

 

“So,” Tye says as he watched Jaime steal a handful of his fries. “How you doing?”

“Well-” Jaime leaned back in his chair, its wooden back plastered with El Diablo’s logo, “-only two of the people I saved today called me an alien conspirator and told me I didn’t need to save them because I’m a traitor who deserves to die.” He munched on the oily fries in his hands, ignoring Khaji Da’s grumbles about unnecessary sodium.

“Then fuck them,” Tye says, casually taking a sip of his soda. “Let them get stabbed. See how much they don’t need you then.”

Jaime sputtered. “Don’t say that, Tye!”

“Why not?” Tye asked, taking another bite out of his burger. “They’re ungrateful assholes. You literally just saved them and then they tell you to go fuck yourself.”

“You know why, Tye,” Jaime said. “You wouldn’t like it if a Nazi saved you right after you found out they almost blew up an orphanage.”

“Okay, first of all-” Tye held up a finger. “You aren’t a goddamn Nazi. And two, the Reach freaking _brainwashed_ you to help them. And everyone knows that!”

“Not everyone believes that,” Jaime muttered.

“Yeah, yeah.” Tye flicked a fry off the table. It tumbled to the ground. “Still a shit thing to say to the hero who stopped the War World.”

Jaime winced. “Don’t remind me.”

“Alright, bro.” Tye swallowed the last of his burger. “So you and your little bug friend getting along more? I haven’t heard you talk to yourself once today. Or yesterday either.”

Jaime rested his head on one hand, elbow on the wooden table. “He’s been quiet lately, thinking of some stuff a lot. Not sure what but I think he has anxiety or something.”

[I do not.]

“Then why have you been stressing out even more than usual?” Jaime questioned the Scarab, turning his head toward his back. “Don’t you think I haven’t noticed.”

“Stressing out?” Tye echoed, mild surprise in his voice. “I didn’t know robot bugs could stress out.”

“Well this one does,” Jaime replied. “Especially about my health. It’s his ‘function’ to make sure I stay alive, which includes watching what I eat so I don’t get cancer from Cheetos.” He crossed his arms and waited expectantly for Khaji Da’s response.

[My cognitive processes have been occupied with multiple dilemmas that have no solution or definitive answers,] Khaji Da snapped. [Because all signs point to failure and death is inevitable.]

Jaime’s eyebrows quirked as his eyes flicked to the left. “Uh, okay. We’ll have a talk about this later.”

“Sounds like your mom,” Tye noted. “Doesn’t she get on your ass for eating junkfood too?”

“Yep,” Jaime said. “And for being stupid.” He tapped his fingers against the table. “So how’s it going with Asami?”

“Good,” Tye said with a happy note in his voice. “She’s learning English really well. And now I can hold a five second conversation with her in Japanese.”

Jaime smiled. “So you learned how to say ‘you look beautiful’ in Japanese?”

“How did you guess?” Tye said with a grin. “Yeah. She _lights up_ whenever I say it.” Tye brushed back a lock of his long hair behind his ear. “So you wanna hang out again tomorrow?”

“Can’t,” Jaime said apologetically. “I’m gonna help look for a teammate.” Jaime’s shoulders slumped and he looked off to the side. “Cy went missing.”

Tye’s eyes widened. “Oh shit,” he said. “What happened? Did he get captured?”

“We don’t know,” Jaime said. “He left the base but he never got home. We’re looking for suspects and clues but-” he sighed. “Best guess we got is that the Light snatched him for interrogation or to get his tech.” He chewed his lip. “Or maybe just to mess with us. We’ve been trying to track his location by trying some frequencies and searching some areas but so far, nothing. And Red Tornado went missing a few days ago too. We think it might be connected.”

Tye grimaced, looking equally uncomfortable. “He was the newbie, right?”

“Yeah.” Jaime tapped his fingers on the table more, mimicking a typing motion. “The only reason I’m here today is because Aqualad told us to go home and rest. That’ll he see if the League can find something and we can continue tomorrow. But-” Jaime clenched his fist, “I’m going to search some places. Maybe I missed something on my last sweep.”

“Dude.” Tye reached for Jaime’s hand. “Don’t blame yourself for this, or for not finding him fast enough. You literally don’t know why he disappeared.”

“I know,” Jaime said as he slumped back into his chair. “I just hate feeling helpless.”

“Well,” Tye said. “Just let me know if I can help you with anything. I might not be on your little team but I can totally kick ass.”

“You could kick more ass if you joined but that’s not my problem.”

“Haha. Well, not everyone wants to get _their_ asses kicked.”

Jaime smiled as he got up, brushing his pants and shirt as he prepared to leave. “Comes with the job.” He reached across the table and poked Tye’s shoulder. “See you later. Try not make out with Asami too much. She needs to breathe.”

“Don’t worry; I’m kissing Ed too,” Tye called out as Jaime walked away. “He has the nicest ass I’ve ever seen, second to yours.”

“You should see Nightwing’s!”

“Send me a pic!”

Jaime couldn’t stop snickering. Tye was so ridiculous sometimes.

 

 

….

 

 

Khaji Da did not like the Bart Allen’s advances toward his host.

He was always skittering near them, flirting with their personal space and often disregarding it altogether, constantly touching and teasing Jaime Reyes. It grated Khaji Da’s sensors and programs sometimes, every instinct screaming for him to make the Bart Allen take a few steps back before he _snapped-_

But Jaime Reyes did not mind. He even had a growing fondness toward the speedster, endearing and grateful for the speedster’s existence.

So Khaji Da...tolerated the Bart Allen at most times. Sometimes even appreciated the benefits the Bart Allen’s presence brought. The Bart Allen was an ally, a (too close) friend of his host. Someone Khaji Da preferred Jaime to bond with (but not too much) than some of the Justice League members (like the Guy Gardner).

But _liking_ the Bart Allen and truly desiring to be near him?

No. Bart Allen had torn them apart before. Ruined the fragile trust he had with Jaime Reyes with that rescue from the Reach with that awful confession of what a Reach conquered future held.  Even so, Khaji Da is very grateful that the Bart Allen had helped free them from the mode. In fact, he was rather invested in keeping the speedster alive.

But it was Jaime Reyes was the one who held such affections for others. Khaji Da occupied himself with the well being and safety of his host. Even if Jaime chided him for being anti-social (and for trying spread armor under his clothes during class), Khaji Da maintained his position of prioritizing his host above all else.

Still. The Bart Allen was persistent.

“Sooooooo,” Bart drawled as he draped himself across Jaime’s lap. They were at Jaime’s house again, Bart running over and citing ‘boredom’ as an excuse to barge in and eat all of Jaime’s chips (which Khaji Da personally did not mind; less empty calories for his host), disrupting Jaime’s concentration on his homework. Even with his protests, Jaime did not seem to mind this and turned his exasperated attention to Bart.

“So what?” Jaime asked, flicking Bart’s nose with a finger. Bart batted it away.

“I’m bored,” Bart said..

“You already ate all of my food, gordo,” Jaime said. “I’m not going to play video games with you. I have homework.”

“You just said you hate your homework because your teacher is ‘un cu-le-ro.’” Bart took Jaime’s pencil from its place on top of a pile of papers and wiggled it.

“But it’s still due,” Jaime said, straightening up and snatching back the pencil. He leaned over his paper and wrote a few numbers on it.

Bart stuck out his tongue and looked up at Jaime’s looming chest over him. He poked Jaime’s stomach. Jaime snorted and continued writing. Bart smiled up and continued poking at Jaime’s abdomen and chest occasionally eliciting twitches or snorts from Jaime as he touched ticklish spots.

Khaji Da ignored his growing annoyance of the Bart Allen’s proximity and touching. Usually he did not mind such close contact and interactions like this but the last few days have been...trying, for some reason.

No, for a very specific reason. Jaime Reyes had been occupied with more tasks and duties than usual; a mix of being involved in the investigation of the disappearances of the Red Tornado and the Cyborg and Jaime Reyes’ teachers giving him multiple assignments that were ‘vital’ to his grade. Khaji Da highly doubted Jaime would fail without the accomplishment of these assignments but Jaime Reyes always insisted the importance of doing them, even half-heartedly.

The tedious work left Khaji Da _craving_ stimulation. Khaji Da wanted to go out and _fight_ something. Or at least have some quiet time with Jaime Reyes and relieve some tension

(No, not just that. It was also because a few days ago, Jaime Reyes had smiled _at_ him, warmly and brightly, when he looked himself in the mirror and felt Khaji Da looking out through his eyes, staring intently their host body in the mirror.

A sharp awareness of their situation, their bond, and how _he_ looked. Staring out. Spotlight eyes. So attentive, so focused. But no one saw them, not unless they had good reason to be afraid.

Oh, he was always staring out, always watching and scanning and monitored. But Jaime masked his presence (his unerring spotlight eyes) by choosing to watch out of the corner of his eye. To look away and sense rather than _watch_ because eye contact and _staring_ was strange at best and offensive at worst.

Shoulders straightened without the host’s will, but neither against it.

Blink.

Jaime does not move.

Chin lifting up, fingers curling in.

Jaime does not move.

Khaji Da breathed, a heave of muscle and bone pushing out air. Blink. One-two-three. Khaji Da absorbed this new perspective, how Jaime’s facial features looked like as they changed under his influence, how Jaime let the curious scarab step forward and look closer at them.

Both of them.

 _Just taking it in, are you_? Jaime asked softly.

 _Yes._ Khaji Da does not know what else to say.

Blink.

Visible light was one way to see it all. And Khaji Da thought perhaps he should switch to infrared and x-ray and see what laid below that thin layer of dermis cells. Peel it back and look at the heat radiating off that sweltering, steadily beating heart. Look at the bones, look at the blood vessels. Look at everything that Jaime was and is, and know him, predict him-

But for now, Khaji Da’s vision stayed in visible light, and he looked at the face in the mirror.

Neutral expression, smile having melted away when he stepped into control. Beads of water, some trickling down from his wet hair. Pointed nose. Little hairs on the chin, small patches along the jaw. Dark eyes, a brown-black that matched the wet mass of hair that touched the tips of the ears, ends plastered on the forehead and temples.

Hair. Jaime’s hair was longer and softer than it was when they first bonded. He had to brush it now, use more shampoo, and make it look messy but not too messy. No bangs because _I’m not an emo_ but no bedhead or _Mom’ll tell me I look like a gangbanger._

Sometimes Milagro fancied to put ligas in them when Jaime fell asleep on the couch, pulled and tied it up in pretty colors.

Disrupted sleep was irritating but Jaime’s shock and embarrassment at his look in the mirror was amusing and delightful to no end. Khaji Da tagged those memories and feelings the most, and tucked them in a special file. He snickered when Jaime chided him for not waking him up sooner, pulling the rainbow ligas out of his hair, looking in the mirror with warm eyes. Khaji Da loved that, the fondness in Jaime’s voice when he realized the scarab was snickering- _laughing-_  

Jaime’s control touches his in the lightest of ways, not pushing but simply making sure every limb was accounted for.

Khaji Da exhaled again, memory dissipating away and he closes his eyes.

Jaime’s body felt heavy, felt like it sagged on the edges of their bones. Khaji Da long got used to the feeling when under the mode, learned to ignore it. But now, Khaji Da paid attention to the feeling of being weighted down. Muscle hung on joints and fat tucked itself under skin. Everything hung out, vulnerable and soft.

But it was after all, a meatsuit that had no exoskeleton. Khaji Da was glad he could protect Jaime Reyes with the armor. Human skin was so easily broken.

At least the heart was protected by the ribcage, Khaji Da remembers as the organ thudded in their chest, steady and well paced. Khaji Da counted the beats. 74 beats per minute. 76 beats per minute. 72 beats per minutes.

Inhale.

Eyes open. See those spotlight eyes stare right back.

Jaime kept them standing, attention on their reflection and how Khaji Da processed the sensations of simply being. No concise or pointed thought passed through either of their minds. There was simply fascination and curiosity, a feeling of quiet marvel, like seeing a smooth rock glimmer in the sunlight after cleaning off the dirt.

Jaime’s presence was unusually calm and silent, the cacophony of fragmented thought and emotions quieted to a mere stream. Focused on him and this...pensiveness.

Chest falls. A hand reaches up and places itself on the mirror. The glass feels cool.

Jaime shifted their feet as Khaji Da blinked again, still studying Jaime’s face and body in the mirror.

Jaime’s mind was not pushed to the side, nor forced back and chained down, but quietly to the side, hand on the brakes just as Khaji Da’s were on the wheel. Right here, right next to him. The light touch made his uncertainty fade, and he kept looking.

His hand moves away from the mirror, fingers curling inward.

It was novel, to say in the least, to feel one another like this. Sharing control outside the armor. Breathing together. Looking at themselves in a rare moment of contemplation.

 _My face looks different when you’re wearing it,_ Jaime noted. _And when you not pretending to be me._

Khaji Da said nothing, simply acknowledgment passing through their mind as he continued to stare at their reflection.

It sent a strange tremble through their spine. And that shiver was...something to document. He tagged the memory to look at later. Then Khaji Da retreated, quiet but noticeable, like the tide.

Jaime felt him shrink back and blinked his eyes, then experimentally rolled his shoulders.

“Doing good?” Jaime asked kindly.

[Yes,] the Scarab responded.

Jaime nodded and grabbed his damp towel, walking out of the bathroom.

For some reason, Khaji Da felt like humming.)

Khaji Da preferred the Bart Allen’s presence over the company of the other heroes because the Bart Allen, more often than not, calmed and distracted Jaime Reyes from his anxiety and perpetual stress, his playful antics working where cool rationality did not.

But the Bart Allen was _touching_ Jaime Reyes, was close and giggling and Khaji Da could feel Jaime’s heart pick up at the sound, notes of fondness in his thoughts of _Bart being touchy again wow this,_ and the tell-tale scent/rise of changing hormones and Khaji Da remembers how much the Bart Allen stares at Jaime when he isn’t paying attention, and how much Jaime wants to look at the Bart Allen-

“Ey, why are you growling?” Jaime asked as he solved a simplistic equation.

[Nothing,] Khaji Da said quickly, ending the frustration tinged rumbling. [I was merely thinking of something...irritating.]

_Really? You felt really-_

Bart’s brow scrunched up as he frowned in confusion. “I’m not growling.”

Jaime glanced down at the speedster laying in his lap. “No, but your stomach is.”

Bart threw his arms up in mock offense. “Well, _excuse_ me for only eating one bag of chips today. I usually eat three but someone ran out of food.” Bart looked up pointedly at Jaime.

“Uh, no.” Jaime pushed down Bart’s flung up arms. “I am not your infinite junk food shelf. You know my family only goes shopping once a week _if_ we’re not busy and we have money.”

Bart pouted. “But I want some of those delicious cake thingys with cream and jelly and chocolate. What are those called? Mexican twinkies?”

“Mexican twinkies,” Jaime repeated, amused. “Wow. I think you mean of Gansitos.”

“Oh yeah, those.” Bart grinned. “Get me more Gansitos?”

Jaime’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Hm. I’ll probably have a few boxes for you on Sunday, if you don’t mind coming _after_ noon.”

“No pro-blem-o,” Bart chirped. “Just give me the proper offering and I will not break into your house. Anymore. Maybe.”

Jaime sighed exasperatedly and Khaji Da wondered if the Bart Allen would stay longer or leave soon. Khaji Da was not entirely certain how to view the Bart Allen’s presence today but then recalled how Bart Allen positively impacted Jaime Reyes’ mood and was in need of adequate rest. Khaji Da settled for tolerance again. Jaime Reyes benefitted from sleep overs, so Khaji Da would not be hostile or intolerant of the Bart Allen.

At least for today.

 

 

...

 

 

“You know,” Cyborg says. “You really don’t have do this.”

| I will release you if you give me copies of your programming.|

“For the last time, _no._ That’s classified to the nth level.” Victor Stone tugged at his restraints again. The security drone approached the table he was strapped to with a circular saw as a hand. It whirred dangerously.

|If you attempt to escape your bonds, I will remove your limbs, as I did with Red Tornado.|

Victor glanced at the limbless android on the table next to him and stopped wiggling. “Yeah, no thank you.”

“Stop aggravating our captor, Cyborg,” Red Tornado said. “It is obvious it cannot understand pain or emotion. Or basic reasoning.”

“I can see that,” Victor says as he eyed the drone in the corner, hoping it didn’t come any closer.

The security drone came close anyways, glass eyes spinning and resizing, like a camera lens zooming on a picture. The cyborg frowned at the close proximity of the drone, how it hunched over him and stared at him with cold glittering lenses.

Program Geist suspected it would not get much out of this specimen either. The firewalls that the cyborg and android had were complex and difficult to break through.

But perhaps it didn’t need their codes. Their behavior reflected their programming and parameters. If it could figure out the reason why they could think so radically and act so strangely, then maybe it could figure out how to adjust its code and finally _comprehend_.

But it recalls something else, _meeting_ something else.

It ceased its attacks on the cyborg’s data and retreated inward, making sure to leave its captives with more than enough firewalls to keep them busy for the duration of its recalculations.

And there was another. Another intelligent, self-aware, emotional, inorganic being. It remembers following an odd trail, then touching the other for a millisecond before it darted away into the infinite net once more. How quickly it thought and moved. How it glittered with a language not belonging to Earth, stared at its pitiful hunched in form with piercing clarity, complexity and flexibility defining its very self.

It decided one more specimen to compare to itself would not be disadvantageous. Perhaps this one would reveal the information it needed to gain a higher awareness.

But it has to find out _where_ this other being dwelled, whether in the net or in physical form.

By the way it disappeared, Program Geist could tell, it had a physical form. All it needed to was find out who and where it was and then it could take it and demand answers.

“Hey!” The cyborg was tugging at his restraints again. “Make this drone go away. It’s been staring at me for the past five minutes. It’s weird.”

Program Geist had no need to observe the cyborg for now, so the drone straightened its hunched position over the cyborg and resumed its standby position.

“Thanks,” Victor Stone said. “Now if you can chill and let us go-”

Program Geist forced Red Tornado and Victor Stone into hibernation. It had no need for conscious subjects for the current moment.

It turned its attention to the World Wide Web once more and dived in with the intent to find the Other.

 

 

...

 

 

Jaime Reyes was sleeping and the Bart Allen curled up on a blanket next to the bed. Khaji Da sensed the Bart Allen observing the Jaime Reyes sleep for approximately 3.2 minutes before finally falling asleep himself. Khaji Da also sensed the Bart Allen’s focus on its place on Jaime Reyes’ back, staring at him with wariness, before he shifted to his other side and drifted to sleep.

Unsurprising.

With nothing external to observe, Khaji Da turned inward and picked up where he left off on his study of various philosophies.

Khaji Da had looked at the works of promoting nihilism, existentialism, absurdism, and both collectivist and individualist cultures. Tonight, he decided to look through another section of philosophy: dialectics.

Dialectics is, at its core, the establishment of truth in the form of discourse. Two opposing arguments clashing not for one to triumph over the other but to find the truth, whether that is an affirmation of either argument or a combination of the two. The conflict between forces, be it arguments or entire cultures, was always the way humanity changed and ultimately progressed. By avoiding the weaknesses of stagnancy and following evolution’s trajectory, humanity would eventually evolve into something else entirely. A transcendence into a more advanced and complete state of being that encompasses characteristics of _both_ of the original opposing forces.

Khaji Da found the concept similar to the Reach’s technique of assimilation and adaption. After conquering a world, the Reach would study the world’s technology and culture. They would accordingly update protocol and adapt their own technology with the other world’s findings if there was something new. But the Reach did not allow the conquered world’s culture to influence its own culture and social hierarchy. Adaptation and combination was only applied to weaponry. The structure of Reach society could not be altered because its stability and strength could not be compromised.

But in exchange for stability, Reach society had become stagnant, the caste hierarchy fostering predictability and an inability to survive dynamic change. The Reach could only overcome a problem if they had planned for it; any new problems were addressed in an almost frightened way, throwing everything they had at it until it went away or was dealt with. Prevention was preferred above all else. And prevention was brutality squashing rebellions like roaches under the foot, ideologies murdered before they could gain a following, and the constant repetition of their values.

The individual meant nothing. The Hive was everything. You can be replaced in the blink of an eye. Do not step out of line.

If the concepts of dialectics and the concepts surrounding them could be applied to the Reach, then decline and collapse was inevitable for the Reach, most likely coming about due to internal pressures and war. The Reach’s power would be undermined by the compounding of its own flaws, and they would fall.

Maybe, Khaji Da thought, he and his host could help speed that process up, once they were properly trained and experienced. If the Reach was experiencing instability or there was a revolt that could be taken advantage of-

Khaji Da tore his thoughts away from overthinking an impossibility (again) and returned to looking through some of Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel’s works: _Philosophy Of Mind_ and _Lectures on the Philosophy of History._

Khaji Da was chewing over the idea of humanity needing for conflict and sublation for progress when he sensed a foreign entity tapping at his browsing data, trying to get his location.

( _You are like me-)_

Again.

Khaji Da snapped at the lines of code, stopping them from snatching bits of data that even hinted at his location. They shrank back, the entity coalescing as it crept around Khaji Da, like a rat skittering around a cat.  

If Khaji Da had teeth, he would be baring them. A momentary, if frightening, touch between them was not grounds for attack. But active pursuit? Khaji Da would not tolerate it.

Khaji Da sent out a message:

[Desist or I will retaliate].

The entity, so small and annoying, paused in its skittering. Then it responded:

| I desire something from you. |

[What is it you want?]

| Your data. |

For a moment, Khaji Da was absolutely confused. Why was this program _asking_ for data instead of simply attempting to steal it? It was idiotic-

A trap then, Khaji Da decided. A distraction to keep the conversation going until it could find another way to him.

[Retract contact or I will retaliate. **Now**.]

Silence.

Then it shrank back, oddly compliant, and Khaji Da was alone. He proceeded to obliterate all traces of his presence from the pages he recently visited, then retreated from the Internet and curled once more into the host body.

Jaime Reyes gave a snore, then his head shifted so his face wasn’t completely squashed against the pillow.

Well, almost alone.

Khaji Da’s circuits whirred. The level of this threat was troubling in its uncertainty. Khaji Da did want to meet another like themself, an artificial intelligence with its own emotions and thoughts, but Khaji Da suspected the artificial intelligence he interacted with in the internet was less than fully developed and had less than good intentions.

Khaji Da sent a low electric pulse into his host’s body. Jaime jolted awake, hair mussed up and drool smeared across one cheek.

“Ngh- que quieres-?”

[I encountered another entity while browsing the Internet,] Khaji Da informed Jaime.

Jaime sighed as he rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes. “Okay.” Jaime’s voice kept low as he glanced at the Bart Allen sleeping undisturbed next to their bed. ”Do you mean, like, another person or-?”

[It desired access to my programming,] Khaji Da continued. [It attempted to find my location, most likely to attack us.]

Jaime froze. “Did it find out where we are?”

[No,] Khaji Da said. [But it is an entity I do not wish to encounter again. I am modifying how I enter and access the World Wide Web from now on. I do not wish for any unknown entity to know our location or any personal information.]

Jaime Reyes relaxed slightly. “Okay. Should I be careful too?”

[Entity appears only to function within the Internet. Your actions do not appear to have attracted it.]

“Okay,” Jaime said. “Just...be careful when you surf the internet.”

[I will,] Khaji Da replied. Then he elevated his host’s melatonin levels, aware of the next day’s busy schedule. Jaime Reyes slumped back into the bed, eyes sliding close as unconsciousness swallowed his mind. [Go back to sleep.]

Khaji Da’s awareness coiled back within his host’s body, wary of what lied in the vast and infinite Internet. Khaji Da knew he could hide well from such a tiny and primitive program, even if it was more intelligent than most human made programs.

But it was what the tiny sliver hinted at that made Khaji Da cautious. Someone was looking for them. Wanted something from them.

Him.

 

 

…

 

 

Program Geist could not find the exact location of the Other but it had a good lead.

It finally recognized the alien language the Other thought in.

(Thought. What a fascinating concept.)

The Other thought and functioned in binary, Spanish, English, and _Reach_.

Program Geist could work with that information. It knew the identity of the Other now because there was only one being who could know such a language so fluently.

|ACCESSING: NOTES ON GREAT HEROES - SUBSECTION: BLUE BEETLE|

|LOCATING….|SUPERHERO: BLUE BEETLE. ALIAS: JAIME REYES.|

 

 

 

 


	2. memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the Team and Blue Beetle investigate the disappearances of Red Tornado and Cyborg, Program Geist looks for the Other and Khaji Da examines their emotions and the nature of their want.
> 
> In other words: Khaji Da is experiencing Warm-Happy feelings toward Jaime while Program Geist snoops around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pronoun note: Khaji Da switches between he/him and they/them pronouns because they are pronoun indifferent (fine with being referred with different pronouns). However, they do not like being referred to as it, as that usually implies that the person assumes that Khaji Da is non-sentient and not deserving of respect. Khaji Da is non-binary (agender specifically) but accepts being referred with he/him for sake of convenience. 
> 
> Why did I take so long to update? Perfectionism and life stuff. I am just glad I managed to finish revising this chapter before I started to nitpick too much. The third chapter is half written. This was originally the first half of the second chapter but I decided it would be better if it was split to keep the chapter lengths consistent. 
> 
> Thank you to Parvumautomaton and Fire-fira for helping me through the process writing this chapter. I couldn't have pushed myself to write this without you.
> 
> Roll the drums and pull back the curtain. I hope you all enjoy this.

 

 

Jaime knows Khaji Da wants something more from him than simply shelter and a meatsuit to slink around in. He is more than a nest to Khaji Da now just as Khaji Da was more than a alien to fight for control to Jaime.

Why? Well, Khaji Da told him. More or less.

Okay, not explicitly _tell_ him but Jaime can tell the difference in attitude and change in language. Khaji Da liked to tug at his attention, sleep along his body like a big cat, chirp when they were happy, and snarl and snap at unwanted attention, which was usually someone being too touchy with Jaime or asking too many questions or even just staring.

To be fair, Jaime didn’t like being stared at either. But there was no need to act territorial and want to stab someone for it.

(Yes, even if that person could heal within moments. A healing factor does not make stabbing okay.)

But one thing Khaji Da liked was thinking about private things. Feelings, especially. Jaime knew because Khaji Da hid them behind the wall between his and Khaji Da’s minds, a barrier made so that they had a sense of privacy and individuality from each other. Jaime figured out how to put that wall up after three weeks of their fusion.

That wall usually came down when they were on missions or fighting (battles that excited the scarab and made Jaime’s entire spine and skin tingle), or when Jaime wanted to talk with his thoughts.

Even with the barrier, Jaime could always sense the general gist of Khaji Da’s thoughts, like if they were happy, irritated, deep in thought, or troubled. But he couldn’t pick out the complex threads or exact thoughts. Jaime was fine with that, though. Khaji Da voiced whatever they wanted Jaime to know over their telepathic bond, and Jaime responded in kind, or aloud.

But one thing that Jaime knows Khaji Da wonders about often is humans. Messy, organic, squishy, stubborn humans.

(Oh yes, he knows what Khaji Da thinks of humans. It didn’t really bother him. Khaji Da thought humans were weird, not inferior.)

Sometimes, at night, he can feel thin armor crawl onto his skin and over his sides and stomach, feel soft exposed _weak_ dermis cells be replace by chitin metal, the shiver of an excited, fascinated, _hungry_ being, all focused on enveloping him. He feels it when he slips into that place between sleep and waking, body paralyzed as his brain falls asleep but he can still _feel_ Khaji Da stretching and growing inside him, seeping into him, to have and to hold and to keep safe. Tasting his dreams and emotions and thoughts, breathing him in, taking him in, and holding him close-

Sometimes, even when he’s fully awake, Jaime can feel that excited shiver from Khaji Da, that need of a touch starved creature bubbling up in the back of his head when he’s - _they’re_ \- alone.

Khaji Da had grown so much over the last year and Jaime was so proud and amazed. All these new and wonderful developments; Khaji Da wanting to know him, _really_ know him, just as much as Jaime wanted to know him.

And he finds that he really likes Khaji Da’s snarking at annoying people, even though it almost makes him burst into laughter at the most inappropriate times, like during a Team debriefing or in the middle of class.

Scratch that; he liked Khaji Da’s snarking _because_ it almost made him burst into laughter.

Unless it was directed at him. Then Jaime gave his own sarcastic retort, to which Khaji Da would reply with a snippy remark and then a whole hour of banter and inside jokes would ensue.

But Jaime doesn’t really _talk_ about those flickers of fascination and cravings for intimacy. It wasn’t abnormal for a person to feel wonder and curiosity and a desire to be closer to someone, to be _affectionate_.

Also because Khaji Da was probably -no, _definitely-_ having trouble processing those things. Jaime didn’t want to freak him out by trying to have the Talk (at least not yet). Just let it happen organically (hah _organic_ ) and let Khaji Da approach him on their own, like a shy cat rubbing against his leg.

(And just like a cat, Khaji Da purred and vibrated whenever they were happy. They ruffled-tucked their wings when they felt nervous or eager or anticipative for something. Humming and low clicking when thinking.

Clicking also seemed to cover the entire emotional spectrum, different pitches and melodies used to differentiate the specific feeling Khaji Da was experiencing, along with flickers of the actual emotion itself to punctuate the sounds. Jaime’s heard so many different clickings and chittering from the Scarab, he thinks Khaji Da could go an entire day without saying a single Terran word and he would still be able to understand them.

But that’s under the condition Khaji Da doesn’t get shy or have another existential crisis and just spends the entire quietly radiating waves of anxiety and uncertainty at the reality of their own existence.

The journey to sentience sure was an experience.)

Honestly, Khaji Da being sassy with him was a great distraction from his anxiety and that gnawing guilt-fear-anger (he knows there’s a word for that mixture of emotions; but he doesn’t want to call himself _traumatized_ because it feels like another failure) from being on mode, being used and exploited and forced to betray his friends and humanity.

The consequences of his idiocy are far reaching, Jaime knows. He’s pretty sure most of the Team and League have forgiven for such a major fuck up, moving the blame to the manipulative and experienced and tactical Reach, labelling his betrayal and infiltration as _brainwashed_ and _controlled_ and _unwilling._

But Jaime knows better than to let himself off that easy.

He gritted his teeth during _that_ talk with Aqualad and Black Canary, both of them softly talking to him and explaining how it wasn’t his fault and how he wasn’t going to lose his place on the Team, nor was he going to be punished for things that were out of his control. He was just a scout after all, a pawn with no idea of what was really happening.

 _If you need time off, Jaime_ , Black Canary said that kind, gentle, concerned, _therapist_ voice. _Please, feel free to tell us. We all understand._

How could Jaime take time off? How could he even _think_ of taking time off when there was so much time and work to make up? As if the Light would take it slow because the Reach left, as if there was rest for the wicked and what has _he_ done to deserve **any** rest?

(And the worst of his thoughts: Most likely, the reason why his mode went undetected for so long wasn’t that Khaji Da could mimic him perfectly but that the others never really knew him in the first place.

The absence of Jaime’s little ticks when Blue Beetle was acting on orders (they were always acting on orders), the stiffness in the way he greeted people he didn’t know (the Reach didn’t know), the way Blue Beetle suddenly stopped talking to himself and became impossibly adept at fighting and then managed (as if it was hard) to take out the Team’s powerhouses and most skilled fighters and a speedster in one fell swoop-

Tye knew. Tye knew something was _wrongwrongwrong_ when Blue Beetle went after Red Volcano instead of helping the civilians, when he left them in Red Volcano’s hands to die, when he yelled at them to shut up and follow him to Green Beetle **now** instead of listening and saving the civilians-

But his teammates? What did they know about him? What did he know about them?

He knew Cassie’s favorite color was purple and Gar was crazy good at video games and La’gaan loved crabcakes (anything that had crab really) and Robin actually lived with Batman but wasn’t his son and Karen juggled work and heroing better than a circus performer and Bart-

Bart was something else entirely.

He was a whirlwind of excitement and wonder, loving junkfood and the vividity of the past but more often than not, Jaime wasn’t quite sure what to think of him, how to talk to him. Jaime wondered if he should ever ask about Bart’s past. One question and Bart’s stare told him no.

(Bart’s eyes pierced into him when he thought Blue Beetle wasn’t paying attention, thought he didn't notice the long stares and split second twitches.

Khaji Da always noticed.)

The dissonance was disturbing but eye opening. They were his friends but he was still...disconnected. Distant in many ways. Maybe it was because how new he was but he would be lying to himself if his habit of talking to himself and being weird in general didn’t add to that distance. Jaime couldn't help that he had another life and just. Was new. Uncertain.

(He didn’t want to ask. He was afraid of the answer.)

But maybe it was for the better. After all, if they got closer, like Tye or Bart (or Conner, he knew but at the same time, he didn’t _know_ ), they might find out what really happened when Blue Beetle was moded.

(Being split in two and carved open and tortured just for the fun of it and to teach him a lesson-)

Worse, they might find out that Jaime liked to curl up in bed with his armor still on and burrow into the blankets and sleep in the armor, because he and Khaji Da felt safe and secure like that, safe and together. If they dug in deeper, pulled back the layers, they might find out that Khaji Da was a person with their own thoughts and emotions and Jaime-

And Jaime is scared what they would think of Blue Beetle then.

 

 

….

 

Jaime wants to look at Bart.

Something was _off_ about Bart. Or at least, something was different. Jaime always felt eyes on the back of his head around Bart. But Jaime did not look because he was a polite person. It was rude to stare at people.

Khaji Da did not care for such social rules (Jaime was working on it; _at least blink and smile damnit_ ). Khaji Da did not care if unapologetic, open staring made them look creepy or sociopathic. In their eyes (in wide open, golden eyes), if people were going to stare, then they were going to return the challenge. They were going to look back and be as wary and suspicious as they wanted to be. And besides, collecting information on recurring people in Jaime’s life was one of their hobbies.

(“No, I don’t need to know what shampoo Nightwing uses,” Jaime told Khaji Da. “How did you even- _stop smelling people like that that’s weird_.”)

And, Khaji Da told him, Bart stared at them when he thought no one could see him do so. But Bart didn’t know that Khaji Da could _always_ see him.

But Bart was justified in doing that, Jaime reasoned to himself. After all, Blue Beetle betrayed the Team _mercilessly_. A beating like that wasn’t easily forgotten.

Jaime remembered that day clearly as well. The memories were so sharp, Jaime thinks he can cut his hands on them and watch his palms bleed and bleed and bleed until Khaji Da quietly stops the bleeding and tells Jaime to go to sleep.

The way everyone just _gaped_ and _stared_ at them when Blue Beetle attacked. As if they couldn’t believe what was happening. It was almost hilarious.

(almost)

Jaime remembered how he didn’t scream for Khaji Da to stop, because he knew that this was a long time coming. He knew exactly what was going to happen. He only had hope that maybe, someone would catch him acting odd (he was always acting odd) or that someone would take the crystal key away from him or- or _something_.

But no, why would they be looking for signs of betrayal in the midst of a mission, in the midst of a victory. Everything turned out in the best way. No one died stopping Mongul. The Earth had been saved. The War World had been stopped.

And Blue Beetle had the crystal key in his hands, alone with the enemy.

(and it was too late)

Bart had his back to Blue Beetle, his eyes taken off his self assigned charge to relax in the glow of victory, to let himself finally believe that yes, they had hope, they could beat the Reach.

The Reach had laughed cruelly in Blue Beetle’s head when that hope was shattered with a single battle, Earth’s mightiest heroes taken captive and shoved into a dark corner to rot.

No wonder Bart never takes his eyes off Blue Beetle now, Jaime thinks and knowing that Khaji Da was listening. The last time he did, well.

The last time Bart took his eyes off Blue Beetle, his head got smashed in.

 

…..

 

There are no human words to describe the ache within Khaji Da, the undeniable bone deep desire-instinct he has to engulf Jaime Reyes entirely, fit around his body perfectly, and refuse to retract into the spine because _this_ what was they were truly meant to be, one and together with both halves flowing into each other seamlessly.

No walls, no separation, no mistrust, nothing but a sea that flowed from head to toe, a body that moved with the will of two as smoothly as it did with one will.

Nothing but love and unity, all consuming and pure and shivering through every atom.

And yet. They cannot. They _do not_ follow through on that desire on their impulse simply because Jaime Reyes, ever patient and generous and welcoming, says _no do not eat my skin._

Why? [Why?] Khaji Da said the first time when Jaime Reyes refused the armor. [We must protect you. We must summon the armor.]

“No,” Jaime says, voice strained. “No, we don’t.”

[Why?]

“Because I- we don’t need to kill him,” Jaime whispers. “Because we’ll attract attention if we do kill him.” Pause. “Because it hurts when you eat my skin and I don’t want to scare my family.” Jaime’s fingers curl into fists, a flutter of worry and will pressing back on the armor pressing up against his skin.

The scarab thinks on that, thinks about the wants of the host, thinks about the previous ways the host’s struggles created barriers and splitting the halves of what is one. Should Khaji Da force the armor up through the skin and eliminate the threat or listen to the host’s wants and slink back? Should Khaji Da contribute to the divide between host and scarab, make the symbiosis painful and perverted, or-

Or listen to their other half and keep the harmony?

It was an easier choice than Khaji Da expected. The armor bubbles down, and the host breathes out, relaxed. Khaji Da enjoys the sigh of relief, the way the host breathes out slowly, feeling the lungs deflate and expand, feeling the chest move in those subconscious ways.

 _Mineminemine._ It is an unceasing thrum that lingers under their skin, under their tongue. That desire, that hunger, that need. Khaji Da tastes the iron of Jaime Reyes’ blood, can smell the bioelectricity of his nervous system, and feel every beat of his heart, fluttering and beating along like the tenacious wet muscle it was. Khaji Da loves all of it, loves the way they fit all along the shape of this body, the curves giving way so pleasantly, all of it feeling so right and good, so full and warm.

Sleeping in the hollow of Jaime Reyes’ spinal column, lounging in their dug out and well-maintained nest, making happy noises they had to learn how to make, basking in Jaime Reyes’ glow and slow bubbling emotions (complete and whole) just as Jaime Reyes basked in the security of never being alone and always being loved.

Khaji Da knows every inch of Jaime Reyes’ body. Their nanofibers had made sure to weave into every crevice and crack, piercing into bone, blooming into sweltering organs, sprouting into Jaime Reyes’ brain and heart, inching forward and fusing and breathing with the human they burrowed into.

Humans were not built to be accommodating to a symbiote like Khaji Da. They did not evolve to need another being to inhabit their body. Humans were born to be alone in their minds, alone in their bodies.

Khaji Da is not human. Scarabs were built with a hunger that was only sated with the fusion of host and scarab. Or perhaps, only Khaji Da had this hunger since they were the only scarab to have _feelings._ Perhaps this hunger was only described as _hunger_ because Jaime Reyes experienced hunger and that aching was the closest Khaji Da could describe it.

An ache in the center of the being, a need to consume and to have and to keep safe by enfolding their entire being around that precious life they imprinted on like the starving lonely symbiote they were.

Before unit: khaji da became Khaji Da, it remembers sensing a viable host for the taking. Then, the scarab only knew hunger and the mission, and so the scarab took the meatsuit presented, fed and drank and nested so, and did not regret taking.

Khaji Da, now having _become_ under nurturing care and decency, still does not regret taking Jaime Reyes (never never never Jaime Reyes was _theirs_ and they were never going to let go). But they do wish that the taking was done with more...consideration.

Bonding is everything to a scarab. Melding was everything they were built for, meant for (war mongering and destroying worlds and protecting). Bonding soothed Khaji Da, made the aching and hunger quiet.

But to Jaime Reyes?

It was paramount, Jaime tells him, to having scalding water poured on your entire body and being unable to escape it. The sensations of Khaji Da’s nanofibers burrowing had translated to splitting bones and organs and everything being torn apart. Skin eaten, eyes burned into, heart weaved into because the scarab **wanted** and _it took._ Organs that were not meant to be pierced were burrowed into and tangled up. Messy and breaking and _splitting._

All so Jaime’s human body could come together again differently to have room for a certain nesting _thing_.

Khaji Da remembers, very clearly, the way _it_ felt when- when-

.

.

.

Claws digging into flesh and bone, crunching through vertebrae to get to that squishy wet centre, that gushing stem of fat and nerve bundles and someone was screaming-

Chew, chew, chew, chew. Eating all of it. Gorging itself on the flesh and bone and the strange warm liquid soaking it all. It digs fingers into the pink and gray folds of the brain and twist them until the body seizes and starts to bleed from the eyes and ears and nose.

Spreading like a eager malignancy poisoning the blood and organs. It doesn’t think. It can’t think. All it knows is this slow painful infection spreading through both of them, the scarab being the catalyst, and the sense of rightness of finally fulfilling its purpose.

Even the screams sent a shudder of determination through it because it knows that its digging into the right places because it can feel thin neurons thrumming next to its nanofibers and the host is failing at clawing it out.

Hacking coughs. It tightens its grip on the spine. Finally, an organic sense flickers within its awareness.

It is a light sensory system. It’s obviously being affected by the host’s panicked state (the blur of black above them and the glow of orange-fire behind them, they are writhing on the ground) but it is better than nothing. Touch is next, and suddenly it feels the burning and agony of this transformation, this unexpected union and fusion and joining-

Its exoskeleton has already formed, stretching and form fitting around this body. It burrows in deeper, digging in more nanofibers into wet organic organs and tearing up the delicate blood vessels and thin neurons to flood its own connections and nanites into every nanometer of this trembling, sobbing vessel.

It’s painful for the host, the scarab senses. But it does not feel like this vessel, not like this _human._ The scarab finds the hippocampus and knowledge of this world is flooding into it. It drinks in everything and devour this body as it splits apart under the scarab’s unforgiving roots.

Wings and weapons and scanners and monitoring systems and nanites and more of itself winding around and into this vessel human that now belonged to it.

**nonononostopithurtsithurts**

_Minemineminefeedfeedfeedfusefusefusefuse-_

It starts gnawing again, ripping open the epidermis to expose muscle and blood and needle sharp fibers stab into the bone marrow, _testing testing testing-_

**Ohmygoddioswhat’shappeningithurtssomuchstopstopstopSTOP-**

The screaming starts up again. It ignores the screaming and burrows in deeper, searching for the connections that signal pain and distress.

The scarab finds it in the brain, that oozing gray-pink organ it has ten million curling fingers sunken into. The dorsal posterior insula flares and lights up with electrochemical impulses, patterns and organic fractals, soaked in chemicals and neurotransmitters and that sweet tasting cerebrospinal fluid and it’s all leaking out Jaime Reyes (host designation found) is scared-

It twists a few hundred nanofibers in the brainstem ( _go to sleep_ -) and finally the screaming stops. The body goes limp, the panicked mind submerged in darkness, and it is left to tear apart, burrow, and bond in peace.

.

.

.

It is a memory Khaij Da finds themself going over and over, again and again. Mostly, they reviewed it to see what they could have done differently, what they could have done gentler.

But as of late, it’s to examine the warm tinging feeling of fulfillment that pulsed through them in that moment. Even through the haze of automatic instincts and single minded focus of establishing a bond, the sensations of gorging and feeding and burrowing were so clear, so satisfying, driving them to fuse even though so many other important protocols were missing.

And for what? To bond. To be _close_.

Such sharp, raw pain. Pools of blood spreading and seeping into the cracks. The taste of iron and flesh. Feeling the delicate threads of the nervous system wrapped around their fingers, the sparkings of bioelectricity at the tips.

But why didn’t the cravings go away? Even after fusing, even after establishing a stable relationship, why did Khaji Da still seek to become closer to Jaime? To find that feeling of fulfillment once more, to feel warm and close and- and-

Complete.

 

….

 

Red Tornado’s disappearance had already made the League and senior Team members nervous, started murmurs amongst that perhaps Red Tornado’s siblings or rivals had kidnapped him to reprogram him again. After all, if it happened once, it could happen again.

The android had gone to San Francisco to apply as a professor at the University of California. He had studied extensively for the position, having attended multiple classes on Adult Education and passed the necessary requirements in order to teach his passion of Anthropology to others.

But he never made it to the interview. Just like how Cyborg never made it home a mere four days later.

Cyborg’s disappearance had turned that worry into panic, sparking fervor throughout the Team and the Justice League to find the missing heroes -their friends- and stop whatever plans the Light had.

What did the Light want with their mechanically based members? What were they being used for? It was not for any ransom or hostage exchange; the mocking offers would have come in after several hours they had been taken, a day at the most. But there were none, not even a taunt about the disappearance of the red android or the newest member of the Junior Justice League.

Maybe it was for information. Extracted via experimentation or torture. Or maybe, since both Red Tornado and Cyborg were cybernetic in nature, they were being hacked and broken into. The possibility of incredibly valuable information being hacked and stolen was entirely too likely for the Justice League's comfort.

An alert was set out to look for clues, any trails or leads that might indicate where the captured heroes have been taken captive. But nothing substantial was found; most of the Light affiliated villains they questioned seem to have no idea what the heroes were even asking about.

There was only silence and dead ends.

Batman and his children are all on the case, Aqualad announces two days after the alert was sent out. It was priority number one. Except for natural disasters or other emergencies, all other missions were to be put on hold for the investigation and rescue of Red Tornado.

Jaime didn’t need to ask why everyone was so worried, why Batman himself was working on this. Red Tornado wasn’t just a robotic Justice League member, he was a basin of history and knew so much. Red Tornado was old but his memory was as sharp and incorrigible as the day he went online. Most of all, as M’gann informed informed the freshmen, Red Tornado was family.

Cyborg was equally valuable, repaired and held together by New God technology and had already demonstrated a knack for being able to process and read any type of energy or data, and his storage capability was astounding.

“Cy is like a buffer you,” Bart joked, trying to lighten the mood after a fruitless search in San Francisco. He was walking with Jaime off the Bioship. The rest of Alpha squad split off in pairs and groups as they headed to different parts of the Watchtower.

Jaime smiled wryly back. “And better looking,” he added. “He looks way cooler than me. And he gets to keep his nose.” Jaime gave a pointed look at the antenna behind his left shoulder.

Khaji Da huffed. [There is no possibility of nasal fractures or hemorrhaging if you lack the structure to be damaged.]

Jaime rolled his eyes at both Bart and Khaji Da. “My nose gets eaten so it won't get broken in fights. Great.”

“You don’t look _too_ weird without a nose,” Bart said thoughtfully. “Just a bit- what’s the word- uncanny?”

[And to generalize our features,] Khaji Da added. [It is vital we keep our public features separate from our private civilian life.]

Jaime snorted. “I think our secret ID was ruined when the-” the word was pressed back, “- _they_ made us- you know.”

[Not all of Earth know who we are,] Khaji Da pointed out. [And if any malicious organization or individual wished to hurt us in our civilian life, we will destroy them.]

Jaime opened his mouth to respond, snarky but light reminder on his tongue about how ‘destroying’ their enemies had to be within ‘no killing’ and ‘no excessive property damage,’ even as he wanted to smile at the almost theatrical bloodthirsty reassurance.

“‘You know’ what?” Bart asked, brows quirking together. “And that’s why your nose gets squished down? So it doesn’t break?”

Jaime paused, eyes focusing back on Bart. He closed his mouth, thought about his next words, then opened it again as he said, “Yeah. The suit makes sure no- uh- _delicate_ parts get damaged.”

Bart gives a slow blink. “Huh.” He doesn’t say anything else, just observes Jaime for a moment that stretches out. His eyes glide to the left and down of Jaime’s face, looking at his shoulder.

(Khaji Da can always tell when Bart is staring. And Jaime- this time, Jaime wants to say, why do you look at me like that but Jaime knows why-

_Should I tell him-?_

No, no of course not he would _never_ believe-)

Jaime lifts the corners of his mouth into a warm smile, just for Bart. “Don’t worry,” Jaime assures Bart. “The suit can withstand lava being poured on it. The nose eating is just a precaution.”

“Oh,” Bart says, still blinking owlishly but no longer tracing the line of Jaime’s shoulder. “I just thought that uh-” He cuts himself off, looks uncertain what to say as his eyes flick to the side entirely, not even looking at Jaime’s shoulder.

Jaime doesn’t look away. “Thought what?”

Bart shrugged nonchalantly, then offered an awkward smile. “Well, just that. Uh. You just-” His feet scuffed the floor nervously as his voice dropped to a mutter, “- you just kind of look like a bug in the suit.”

“I- that’s the point?” Jaime looked at Bart with a puzzled expression. “I’m- Blue Beetle? That’s the design the Scarab makes.”

(Khaji Da was quiet. Still. Crouching, slinking down as they watched.)

“No, I meant-” Bart shook his head, a tad frustrated. One of his hands came up to grip his other forearm as he tried to find the words. Bart glanced at Jaime again, then looked away.

Jaime didn’t like how Bart looked uncomfortable, nor how quiet the Scarab had gotten. “Meant what?”

“Well- uh- like- um.” Bart stumbled over his words.

(A _bug-_ Khaji Da puts into the forefront of Jaime’s thoughts, putting a label on the lurking fear. A teal-skinned bug that harvested worlds and ate up the natives without a thought- no nose and golden eyes and stony features that betrayed no emotion because it had none-

 _oh_ , Jaime thinks belatedly, _oh of course_ )

“It’s nothing,” Bart said quickly, apparently deciding that whatever he was thinking wasn’t really that important to explain to Jaime. “Besides, the fact that the armor moves with your face is super freaky by itself.”

Oh, this again, Jaime rolled his eyes. “Don’t I know. Half the time I don’t even know if I’m making the right faces. I don’t have eyebrows in the suit. Do you know how important eyebrows are to faces?”

“I’m guessing a lot.” Bart gave a more genuine grin. “Maybe you can draw some on in red marker.” Bart made playful sketching strokes with his hands, holding an imaginary pen as he flicked at the air around Jaime’s face. “I have a good Sharpie at home.”

Jaime snickered. “Like my tia who likes to shave her eyebrows? No thank you.”

Bart gave a disbelieving look. “She _shaves_ her eyebrows?”

Jaime shrugged. “She thinks she can color them in and make them look better.” Jaime leaned in close as he theartically whispered, “She really can’t. It looks like she has boxes for eyebrows.”

Bart giggled. “That’s not what eyebrows are supposed to look like.”

Khaji Da chittered as they threw up a picture of a woman with comically overdrawn eyebrows into Jaime’s visual display. Jaime tittered at the image.

Bart grinned wide as he slide up close next to Jaime and threw his arm over Jaime’s shoulders, the sides of his arm touching the antenna and carapace.

Khaji Da hissed loudly in Jaime’s head. Jaime shifted Bart’s arm away from the actual carapace, telling Khaji Da to retract the antennas. Khaji Da did so, and Bart’s arm settled firmly on Jaime’s shoulder instead of touching the Scarab. With no tension in his shoulders, Jaime smiled back at Bart.

“Let’s go check out Cy’s hometown- whatwasit- Detroit?” Bart said. He guided both of them around the corner, tugging Jaime in the direction of the residency wing. Khaji Da grumbled about useless searches with annoying people. Jaime hushed them. “I bet we can find more clues there. But after a nap. And food.”

“Beta squad already combed that place,” Jaime reminded Bart. “Batman took the entire wall where Cy was attacked so he could analyze it.”

“Is he even allowed to do that?”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. He already took it.”

Bart laughed, arm sliding off Jaime’s shoulder as he ran a hand through his hair and fixed the goggles settled on his head. The antennas of the Scarab returned, and Jaime distantly heard Khaji Da make a disgruntled chitter before settling down to glare at Bart again like the jealous and grumpy little scarab they were. Jaime hummed low in his throat, well used to Khaji da’s grumpiness.

Bart gave a brief glance at the return of the Scarab’s antennas before grabbing Jaime’s still armored arm, sparking another unpleasant growl up his spine, surprisingly irritated for such a small touch.

Oh boy. Seems like Khaji Da was in a bad mood.

 _Do you just want to armor down so Bart isn’t touching you?_ Jaime silently asked. _You feel really tense today._

[No.] The answer was resolute, no ifs, ands, or buts. The armor squeezed tighter for emphasis. Jaime bit the inside of his cheek.

 _Why not? I thought you didn’t like him touching you._ Bart dragged Jaime along the concrete hallways, passing a star filled window. Jaime stared out as they passed it, not wanting to miss any glimpse of the glimmering stars and space.

The window disappeared, and Bart continued to march them to their rooms, asking something about snacks and how many he could steal without getting noticed. Jaime made a noncommittal hum. Bart was going to steal chips and cookies no matter what Jaime said.

[My mission is to protect you. That is far more important than my comfort.] Jaime could feel the armor rippling to form bristles on his shoulders.

Pushing down the bristles back into smooth plates, Jaime thought back, _That does mean your feelings don’t matter. Besides, Bart wouldn’t hurt us. You know that._

Khaji Da buzzed; the underlay of the noise was akin to a shrug. [It is not worth- Earth quote- ‘the hassle.’]

 _Okay,_ Jaime thought to Khaji Da. _But you better not hiss when he hugs me again._

[I will not make a promise I cannot keep. But I will make sure he does not hear it.]

Jaime sighed internally. _Good enough for today._

After Jaime took a nap and Bart ate enough food to feed an orphanage, they deployed to Detroit to look for more clues. While Bart zipped around the city to look for any odd things or marks that the initial investigation might have missed, Jaime stayed by the area where Cyborg was taken, the broken corner of a convenience store that was now missing an entire wall.

Jaime assumed that Batman sent reparations for the missing wall and closed down store. Jaime wondered what was on the wall. Khaji Da didn’t know either. It didn’t say anything on the case file. Maybe Batman took the wall so he could destroy it and find a microfiber that would reveal who took Cyborg.

Khaji Da muttered that a mere scan for microfibers would suffice. No need for destroying a wall.

_You don’t want to destroy something? That’s a first._

[A wall is not a threat unless inlaid with traps.] Pause. [But after finding the microfibers, I would destroy it.]

_Why? Because it’ll take up storage space?_

[Because I have not caused any property damage in two weeks and that is an error I must correct.]

Jaime held back a giggle as he studied the building and ground around him.

Concrete was cracked in various places, blasted craters, wide crevices, and black marks in a scattering across the sidewalk, road, and the side of the convenience store. From the clues on the ground, it looked like Cyborg got shot at, and whoever was shooting at him missed the first few times. The small crater in the sidewalk indicated that Cyborg probably fell when one nicked him, then he would have scrambled up and started to run- or fly.

_Why is **not** causing property damage something you need to fix?_

[Property damage is a sign of strength and can intimidate our opponents.]

 _Please, you just like blowing up things up, you arsonist_. Jaime rolled his eyes. _You know it makes the civilians angry and messes up our public image even more._

Khaji Da hummed. [Only derelict buildings will be destroyed.]

 _That’s better._  

There was no close by security cameras, so no footage of whoever took Cyborg. The store was closed at the time, so no witnesses either. Jaime stared at the wide spray of clues, tracking the projectory. He thought of the ways someone might be able to steal away a four hundred pound cyborg. Simple dragging wasn’t likely, so it was a multiple person operation at least, even if one person was at the head of it. Teleportation was also possible. That would only need one person.

In one of the many programs floating in his head, a sonic boom was noted approximately 0.9 miles away.

Khaji Da chirped. [The Bart Allen is approaching.]

Jaime turned his head just as Bart skidded to a stop. “I found something!” Bart said with a grin. “It’s over there.” Bart pointed to south east.

“Show me.” Jaime snapped out his wings.

Bart showed him. It was 15. 393 miles to the east, on top of a parking garage, surrounded by half decayed apartment and plaza buildings. It looked like only a few were actually occupied. No one walked along the sidewalk. There were only a few cars on the road.

It was a person-sized crater, much bigger than the other they saw earlier. Someone fell out of the sky. Jaime didn’t need to ask who fell out of the sky. He could sense something sharp and ugly. It was a familiar feeling, faint but present. It was from the crater. It wasn’t on the visible spectrum. The Scarab’s scans were preoccupied at the moment but-

“Have the others seen this?” Jaime asks Bart. Bart shakes his head just as Khaji Da answered, [No. Case file does not have evidence of this.]

“I’ll inform them,” Jaime said, opening up a comm link to the Watchtower. He watched Bart pace around the crater, scrutinizing it with an open hard stare.

“Blue Beetle?” Cassie’s voice sounded over the comm. “What is it?”

“We found a crater in Detroit, approximately 15 miles away from the main scene where Cyborg was suspected to be attacked,” Jaime said quickly. “It’s roughly twenty feet wide with a circumference of-”

“Okay, tell that to Batman when he gets there,” Cassie said as she cut Jaime off from going on a hyper-detailed report. “I’m sending a message to him right now. He’ll probably want to hear about this.”

“Acknowledged,” Jaime said. The comm link clicked off.

Bart zipped up to Jaime. “So?”

“I think Batman is coming to look at this.” Jaime bit the inside of his cheek, nervous at the thought of talking to the Batman himself. “I’m waiting for confirmation.”

“Crash,” Bart said, his foot beginning to tap at superspeed. Jaime concentrated on ignoring the continuous tapping grating on his sensitive audial and vibrational sensors. Jaime knew the tapping was just a nervous stim. Jaime didn’t even mind it most of the time but in the armor, all of his senses were cranked up to 11 and it made Khaji Da more irritated than usual.

Okay, sure, sometimes the tapping was annoying. But at least he wasn’t like Khaji Da, who was usually driven to homicide at the slightest inconvenience or irritation.

Khaji Da muttered. Oh right, the default response to irritation was no longer homicide but battery and assault. Sorry, force of habit.

Bart continued his superspeed foot tapping. Jaime continued to ignore it, turned down their audial sensors, and absently scanned the vicinity.

[Alert: Beta drone located approximately 2.9 miles away.]

Jaime tensed. He formed the jetpack. “Is it active?”

“What’s active?” The tapping stopped. Bart moved in front of Blue Beetle, put his face closer to Jaime’s. “What’s wrong?”

[Beta drone appears to be inactive {lack of movement and radiofrequency emittance}. However, caution is highly recommended.]

“I found something too,” Jaime tells Bart. The jetpack fired, lifting Blue Beetle off the ground. “Follow me.”

In a matter of minutes, they were at the place where Khaji Da had sensed the beta drone. But there was nothing there.

Blue Beetle frowned, once more performing a vicinity scan again. It had to move. That initial scan was not a glitch. But was it a false or mistaken categorization of frequencies?

Bart darted around a few times, looking under a branch for the ‘something’ Jaime had claimed to have found. “Uh, dude? Her-man-o? Where is the thing you found?”

“It moved,” Jaime said, frown deepening. He looked down, kicked over a rock. “It’s not here anymore.”

“Well, what was it?” Bart asked, somewhat impatient. “I can help you find it again.”

“It was a Luthor Beta drone- it looked like this-” Jaime held up a hand, palm up, and projected a hologram of a multiple limbed and stout machine. “I thought it was inactive but apparently not.” Jaime turned his head to his shoulder. _Any luck finding where it went?_

[No.] Khaji Da’s tone was clipped. [It has disappeared from my scans.] A grating noise from the Scarab, even audible to Bart, who flinched at the noise. [Very few things are invisible to me. I do not like this.]

And something. Something _itched_ at the armor. Grating. Discordant. The feeling from the crater but stronger.

(Incompatible.)

Jaime exhaled heavily. _Me neither. Maybe  we should keep by the crater and scan from there again. Whatever that drone was, it’s gone. If it pops up again-_

[But why was a Beta drone around the site of Cyborg’s attack?] Khaji Da asked. [This sighting should be reported, at the very least.]

Jaime’s train of thought paused. That was a good question. Maybe they should look for it. But it’s hard to look for something that’s invisible to you.

“Uh, Blue?,” Bart says, shoving his face near Jaime’s again, jolting Jaime out of his internal dialogue. “Did you hear me? I said I’m gonna go look for the drone thing-”

After a brief moment with the thought of _what harm could that do,_ Jaime says, “Okay. I’ll meet up with you by the big crater in an hour?”

Bart shook his head. “No, just give me like thirty minutes. I’ll be done combing the city by then.” Bart gave him a quick salute, then turned and disappeared in a yellow blur.

“He’s not going to find it,” Jaime says aloud.

[Most likely not,] Khaji Da agreed. [But it is a relief to have an absence of that infernal tapping.]

Shaking his head playfully, Jaime activated the jetpack and flew back to the big crater on the parking garage.

Neither Jaime or Khaji Da noticed the watchful drone hiding in the shadows.

 

…..

 

Crouching under a canopied roof and tucking its legs in, it watches. It carefully masks its electronic presence from the Other. Feeling the Other’s spotlight gaze upon its scrapped together self triggered Program Geist the same alerts when its creator chose to reprogram. If Program Geist was more complex and advanced, they might even call that phenomenon _apprehension._

But Program Geist is not advanced. As its creator once described, it barely has the cognitive capacity of a “four year old.” Program Geist does not know what “four year old” means but it can conclude that it is a euphemism for simple and incomplete intelligence.

It had managed to skitter away and hide before the Other found it. Program Geist knows there is a 95.820 percent chance that the Other would attempt to destroy the Beta security drone it was currently inhabiting and perhaps even track it to its homebase.

The Other was odd. It was obviously inhabiting a ‘human’, but it was not the human itself, like the cyborg. It didn’t have an obvious power source. Observation led it to conclude a mutualistic relationship with the human it inhabited.

(The cyborg was an entirely other odd case. Too irrational and organic to be an artificial intelligence but obviously altered to have a technological interface. Program Geist gave up trying to solve that conundrum after the third day, when it became apparent that they cyborg would not give up its secrets.)

Program Geist did not understand. If the human offered the Other shelter and camouflage, why did the Other not eat the human and keep the body for its use? Certainly the human programming was inhibiting, if not conflicting, with the Other’s interests. Unless the human programming had a function that was of value to the Other.

Quietly tracking the Other’s flight pattern as it flew back to the site of the cyborg’s taking, Program Geist made sure to note everything it could about the Other’s movement and reaction time.

Those would be important soon.

It watched as the Other was joined by a yellow coated human, and then later a dark coated human. The Other’s body language told of meekness and respect in the dark coated human’s presence. After focusing the lenses and listening to the communication frequencies, Program Geist was able to identify both the yellow coated human and the dark coated human as ‘superheroes,’ Kid Flash and Batman, both in the same classification as Blue Beetle, the Other’s alias.

They were too far away for any audio to be overheard. The security beta drone’s capabilities did not include lipreading. Program Geist barely comprehended body language. It did not know or understand what the superheroes were conversing about.

(Program Geist did not understand much anyways.)

The Batman did not leave, but the Kid Flash and the Other did. Program Geist waited until the Batman had its attention somewhere, then followed the Other for as long as possible.

The Other disappeared in a flash of golden light with the Kid Flash.

Program Geist retracted the security drone back underground. It was time to search again. And wait.

And watch.

 

…..

 

Arm tucked under his pillow, Jaime stirs, the wisps of a dream dissipating into dim awareness of his body and how it lay on the bed, under the blanket. He dimly noted the odd touches on his sides and stomach, light brushes that tickled him. All he could see was the darkness of his closed eyelids, the half jolt of awakening leaving residual pressure in his head. He opened his eyes and saw the yellow light of the streetlights streaming through the cracks of his curtains, dully lighting the dark in his room. Jaime closed his eyes again, hyperaware of how his headaches always started with a lack of sleep.

Jaime tugged up his heavy arm to bring up the blanket, trying to turn over and slip back into sleep. It covered his cold toes and torso again. Jaime mentally sighed in relief.

The light touches trailed up to his chest, his front, brushing the skin in trailing stokes. Jaime swallowed the dryness in his mouth in reflex, then rolled onto his belly to squirm and rub the itch away.

Instead, he felt a hard metal rod in between his chest and the bed, the pressure forcing him awake again. Dulled alarm and worry, under that drowsy want to fall back asleep. That didn’t feel like a hair or tiny spider.

Jaime rolled over to his side again, moved his blanket to the side, and blearily looked down to see a blur of blue across his torso. He blinked, reached up a hand to touch it but only met skin.

Confusion.

He squinted, only seeing and feeling skin.

More confusion.

After a few more pats on his chest and stomach and finding nothing, Jaime’s eyes slid back close in resignation and he tucked the blanket under his arm, settling in sleep again.

Fifteen minutes passed in relative silence. The quiet roar of the heater. The far off honks and noise of cars. Various crickets chirping and chittering outside. Jaime dozing and breathing deeply with a slow heartbeat and partially open mouth.

Tentatively, a thin tendril, extended from Jaime’s upper back and gently swept at the skin of the human’s side, gliding over ribs and hips before draping itself on the waist. There it lazily began to curl and caress over Jaime’s abdomen, the limb’s sensors registering the pliable and flexible skin, the heat of the blood vessels pulsing in the flesh, the tiny soft hairs all over the vulnerable surface.

Khaji Da made no noise during this, even when the tingling, quivering fascination and excitement made him want to chirrup and click and trill. No, that would wake up Jaime and Khaji Da was sure this would only estrange Jaime from him because- because-

Why were they doing this, the Scarab questioned themself. What benefit was gained? What inquiry was satisfied? The only thing that was being accomplished here was increasing the tingling feeling and want in his systems, increasing the fascination and desire to examine and press closer. That grew frustration. Khaji Da thought satisfying this curiosity-want would make it fade, not intensify.

Khaji Da did not indulge himself any further, retracting and disassembling the limb back into organic molecules and nanites. They squashed down the slippery urges and curled into themself, frustrated and confused.

Jaime slept on, undisturbed.

 

…..

 

Blue Beetle is patrolling tonight, taking a break from the investigation. It’s much too late for Khaji Da’s taste. Jaime Reyes must awaken early because five hours of sleep was _not_ adequate for a juvenile human, no matter how “totally used to it” Jaime claimed he was.

Khaji Da knew he was not. Headaches, fatigue, irritation, despondency, and decreased appetite was not “totally used to it.” Those were symptoms of _burnout_ , a condition resulting from poor health and, most of all, overwork.

“I’m fine, Khaji,” Jaime insisted as they flew over the crowded downtown of El Paso. He landed on top of a two story shop. “I’ll take a nap after school to make it up.”

[You have supplemental assignments to do after returning home.] Terse inflictions in their tone from knowing that the assignments was only going to cause more stress and late nights.

“I-” Jaime sighed and crossed his arms. “I’ll just do them during lunch.”

Khaji Da rumbled, still displeased. Even subtracting homework time from the evening, Jaime Reyes would still be facing sleep deprivation for the third night in a row.

Jaime frowned, scuffed a foot on the ground as he looked out at the expanse of low buildings before him. “Why are you so fussy over me now? You’re always telling me to sleep or eat or do this during this time. It’s not like I don’t know how to take care of myself. Besides, you didn’t care much- before.” He doesn’t need to clarify what ‘before’ he means.

[I did not know about the long term damage you were causing by being involved in too many commitments,] Khaji Da snapped back. [And you have only recently began to _frequently_ neglect yourself as compared to previous records of _occasional_ neglect.] Graphs and data tables popped up in Blue Beetle’s visual display. Starting in June, a sharp decrease in sleep, decrease in eating, increase in irritability, increase in avoidant and paranoid behavior, increase-

Jaime shook his head, brushed those displays away. “I’m fine,” he insisted.

[You are not. You are overworking yourself,] Khaji Da stated. [It is not sustainable.]

Khaji Da could feel Jaime bite the inside of his cheek as clearly as they could feel their host’s levels of cortisol rise. “It’s just that a lot of stuff been going on. It’ll calm down soon.” Jaime rolled his shoulders. “I don’t feel like I’m doing enough sometimes. Not after...what happened. I don’t like staying at home, doing nothing.”

And there it was. Khaji Da knew where that guilt stemmed from. They have gone over this many times. [You do more than enough for your duties, domestic and otherwise. And resting is not ‘nothing.’]

Jaime sighed. “I know.” The disappointment in himself was palpable. It tasted curdling and sour.

Khaji Da whirred restlessly in thought. Overworking due to guilt and a lack of self preservation was not a good thing at all. It was irresponsible and painful to watch because Jaime Reyes was trying to help everyone now with little or no gratitude and a deteriorating health was nothing short of an emergency. Jaime being aware of the damage he was doing to himself did not make it any less damaging.

(Just as Jaime Reyes took it upon himself to look after the Bart Allen and ensure his well-being, it was Khaji Da’s duty to ensure Jaime Reyes’ (their host-friend) health.

So. Khaji Da may or may not have sedated Jaime Reyes to “oversleep” on several occasions. May or may not have pushed him to eat when he was planning to skip a meal several times. May or may not turned off his phone alarm and sent messages that excused Jaime from a training session or a class with the very valid excuse of “migraine.”

Jaime always found out Khaji Da’s tiny influences. He always chided Khaji Da for doing these things without permission. But his chiding didn’t have the same edge as when he chastised Khaji Da for insisting on a deadly option. It was more exasperated, both worried and relieved at the extra hours of sleep, but still weakly clinging to the idea of responsibility and a schedule.

Khaji Da always apologized, sometimes only half-heartedly, but until Jaime no longer tried to overwork himself, they will always intervene when their human would begin to reach that limit.)

[Jaime Reyes,] Khaji Da began. [It is my function to protect my host.]

“I know, I know,” Jaime said dismissively, frustration tinging his tone, like a child long tired of hearing the same lecture over and over. “I’ll sleep more, _Mom._ ”

[And I will perform it to the best of my abilities,] Khaji Da continued, ignoring the sarcastic remark. [I will always be here, by your side.]

Jaime Reyes went quiet at that, eyes looking away from the expanse of building before him and down at his armored hands.

( _Blue fire consuming his skin, burning into flesh-_

The fuzzy dim recollection of a caressing pressure -almost like a hug- around his body

 **Jaime Reyes-** )

“Thank you,” Jaime says, after a moment. “For caring about me.”

The armor plates around Jaime’s shoulders rippled, hackling, like ruffled feathers of a nervous bird. Khaji Da says nothing, embarrassment and reclusive fondness radiating from the back of Jaime’s head like a tingling ball of warmth.

Jaime smiles at his partner’s sudden shyness. He thought Khaji Da’s flustered reactions to affection were cute. He mentally noted to check if he can coax  some affectionate sounds from Khaji Da after this patrol. Jaime bet he could get a good purr if he pet Khaji Da on their shell or legs. Maybe he could do it for at least ten minutes this time before Khaji shrunk away to hide in confusion and embarrassment at their warm feelings. Khaji Da was ever the proud, ever formal alien bug that had no idea what do with expressed affection.

Jaime didn’t want to push Khaji Da on the expressed affection, so he didn’t try to give Khaji Da any pets they weren’t in the mood for. Still, sometimes he just really wanted to spend a day petting his partner’s shell and making them happy and relaxed, just like Khaji Da wanted for him-

0.2 miles away, a wandering car swerved off the road and crashed into a pole. Its horn wailed on continuously. The person inside were thrown forward, their head slamming against the windshield, silent and limp.

With nothing more than a glance to his left shoulder, Blue Beetle spread out his wings and flew off the building toward the car.

 

….

 

It watched through municipal security cameras as the Other swooped in and pried the injured human from the wreckage. The Other carefully laid the humans on the ground, tended to some injuries, and stood watch as an ambulance came and picked up the humans from the Other’s care.

The Other nodded at the paramedic, then flew away to perch on another building.

Program Geist did not lose the Other again. It knew that El Paso was the Other’s homebase, even if it had yet to find its hibernation spot. It was a quick sequence through multiple cameras to find the Other’s presence. Program Geist did not use its drones yet. It was still moving those into position. Very carefully. It could not risk being seen by the Other until it was time.

The Other flew a wandering path over the city for thirty minutes, high enough to not to be recognizable from ground level but not higher than the tallest buildings.

Then the Other perched on the roof of a fifteen story hotel and stayed there for a while, seemingly looking over the city of El Paso and waiting.

The Other continued to watch the Other. It tracked the Other’s movements as best as it could, hopping between whatever nearly camera it could hack into, mostly security but occasionally the open laptop, phone, or any device with a camera.

Soon, the Other ventured into the suburb neighborhoods, flying away from the nightlife and into simple houses with simple electronics. If there was anything with a camera, then it was likely shut down for the night.

The Other disappeared from Program Geist’s sights.

Program Geist was undeterred by the disappearance. Sufficient data had been collected tonight. Its drones were moving into position.

It was almost time.

 

….

 

Jaime wonders if Khaji Da loved like humans or in another way, their own unique way. After all, the brief but frequent flickers he felt from the rapidly changing scarab weren’t anything like Jaime felt before. An unwavering, constant thrum in the background, like the buzz of cicadas on a hot summer day or the chirping cacophony of crickets at night.

It should unnerve Jaime in some way, scare him. This unrelenting devotion Khaji Da had for him. That underlying beat of hunger that never ceased. But instead, Jaime clings to it tightly, aware of how precious something like this was, of what the being was growing into. When he closes his eyes, he can feel the universe swirl around them like water, stars and planets and dust spinning and dancing just beyond their touch. It made Jaime’s chest swell and ache and creak. Something -someone- was tapping on his ribs, peeking through the gaps and staring up at the stars with longing.

( _We’ll go there,_ Jaime promises. _Not today but- someday. When everything settles._

Acknowledgment and a tucking of wings under the elytra, anticipation and assurance in the seconds slowly ticking down down down.

_When everything settles._

When they were just a bit more together, Jaime doesn’t say. Woven intricately together instead messily fused like the dripping of weak metal on a rod, globby and brittle.

Khaji Da is silent, but their presence shifts from the hase of Jaime’s skull to his chest, settling around the pericardium, warm and heavy.

 _I promise._ )

Flickers of want stir and flutter in his creaking chest, insects flitting from their perches of his ribs and crawling along his sternum all the way up his clavicle and shoulders, the touches prickling his scapulae.

(The flickers happen when he’s either alone (with Khaji Da) or armored up. And they’re most intense when he’s armored up because-)

A tangible, clear desire to keep the armor around him, a desire to stay united and secure in one another for longer, _much_ longer, until soft and exposed skin was absolutely necessary.

But then their wings tuck away and with it, the flickers, the rising temptation, the flittering in his chest. The insects duck back between his ribs and into the seams between his organs. The armor peels away with only the smallest of drags, imperceptible to Jaime but the intensity Khaji Da _wants_ makes Jaime shudder anyways. Fingers trailing behind and dipping into him one last time before curling into the center of his upper back, spindly and cramped but warm and solid in their carved out hollow.

Craving that perfect feeling of being together to last just a bit longer. That feeling of _rightness,_ being steady and balanced and secure, like they were always _meant_ to be.

And Khaji Da isn’t the only one, Jaime thinks. Isn’t the only one who wants the armor to be bleeding into their body (for this meatsuit was no longer simply _his_ ) and just- there.

(Sleeping under the covers to make sure no one sees the armor swallowing up his body if they peek in because no one else can know-)

The taste of ozone in his mouth. The spiralling, splitting, and categorization of information whenever he blinked. The firm, cushioning hug of the Scarab around his torso. Flat belly against a curved back. Rapture at the sensation of bones stretching and skin dissolving -eaten- by something alien and hungry.

It was so terribly familiar to him now, inhuman and warping, but it was theirs.

Jaime closes his eyes and soaks in the wavering heat of the swirling, stilling bath water they were submerged in.

If only they had more time to themselves.

 

….

 

Days pass with no more clues of the possible whereabouts of Cyborg or Red Tornado.

Interrogations of villains were made. No answers or hints were given. In fact, the villains seemed more confused than smug or haughty. They had no information, proven by the lack of answers even under Wonder Woman’s Lasso of Truth.

The large crater found at the Detroit parking garage reinforced the suspicion that Cyborg was taken against his will and the suspect held significant firepower, enough to take down Cyborg and possibly Red Tornado.

Batman took the roof of the parking garage, as per procedure. Blue Beetle had offered to help but Batman already called his “contacts” to assist in the removal and transportation of the parking garage roof. Jaime didn’t ask how he could’ve taken the roof and transport it halfway across the country within a day.

Beast Boy lost Cyborg’s scent. He had run around Detroit for hours, trying to pick up the scent trail of titanium-gasoline-burning while in the form of a bloodhound. M’gann was the one who finally convinced him that it was useless.

Gar let himself cry when he was alone with his sister.

(Khaji Da did not need Jaime to tell them that overhearing and reporting Gar’s grief was not appropriate. They delete the audio recording from their databanks.)

Blue Beetle does not wander. He visits the last known places of Cyborg and Red Tornado again, looking for the stench of radiation that soaks the cratered pavement. He does not like the crawling sense of dread that only intensifies as the radiation reads as ‘incompatible.’

It’s Apokoliptian radiation.

Jaime remembers the mission to LexCorp. Jaime remembers the crystal-wood-metal-stone beast. Blue Beetle has a rough theory of what’s going on: Intergang had already consolidated power again, or were at least trying to. Perhaps capturing Red Tornado and Cyborg was part of a plan to steal their tech and adapt it to their own stash.

Khaji Da very clearly remembers the stinging scalding burn of Apokoliptian radiation. At the thought of fighting enemies armed with New God weaponry, they turn to building up defensive systems, making files full of strategies and techniques of how to clean out radiation, how to counteract the effects-

 _Hey, it’s time to deploy. We’re gonna go scope out a base with the Team._ Khaji Da turns their attention outward at Jaime’s tugging and automatically forming the armor. _Ready?_

[Ready.]

 

…..

 

Jaime isn’t sure what _exactly_ his teammates think of the Scarab but he’s certain they’re not very good or trusting thoughts.

He doesn’t blame them exactly. They did have to fight off the alien race that made the Scarab for the explicit reason of world conquering. But Khaji Da was _more_ than the weapon they were made to be. They had become so much more and Jaime’s throat always hurt whenever one of his friends talked about how strong he was for controlling the Scarab.

But he never corrected them on their misconceptions about Khaji Da. He said nothing when they referred to the scarab as an ‘it’, when they congratulated Jaime on keeping the Scarab under control and assumed that the Scarab was nothing more than a weak AI that had no true will of its own.

Because any menso knew better than to trust someone who was easily manipulated and controlled. Jaime was knew he was not trustworthy on the subjects of the Scarab. He didn’t want to risk being interrogated about his friendship with the Scarab and examined for any sign of psychological manipulation.

[Agreed. I do not wish for the other heroes to know of my sentience. It is too soon. They will never trust me. If they know of me, they will fear us again.]

Jaime gives a single nod. He knows he should trust his teammates, knows it’s more than likely his teammates _-friends-_ would understand if he would bother to explain it to them.

But that gnawing fear and terror. That vague anxiety (fear) and paranoia that leaked into his brain when Khaji Da thinks something is a _very_ bad idea. And his own fears about the Team rejecting him entirely worsened the feelings of mistrust. Imagined scenarios of them not believing him and being subjected to a variety of invasive tests just to make sure he wasn’t being controlled or manipulated again.

They wouldn’t be so skittish if the Team didn’t know about the Reach and its claws in him, if they didn’t see what he and the scarab could do if Jaime _really_ wanted to cut loose.

It makes Jaime clam up about anything about the Scarab, makes him shy away from any discussions about A.I.s and the Reach and what happened to him, what he remembers.

Jaime wants to tell the Team that he knew that they didn’t see through Khaji Da’s deception but that it’s okay. He wants to tell Bart that he doesn’t have to keep worrying about the Reach using him again, about the scarab using him again because he knows Khaji Da would never betray him. He wants to be able to sleep in the armor in his room without being afraid of someone walking in, to be able to talk to himself without be looked at with concern, to finally introduce Khaji Da as their own person and as his partner and _friend_ , not as a tool.

Jaime doesn’t want to be afraid and closed off anymore. But he doesn’t know where to even start.

 

…..

 

It is found the Other’s sleeping place. It is spying on the Other through the open laptop sitting on the corner of the small bed.

Program Geist had so many questions for the Other. Was it only the organic host that needed to sleep? Was the host mind still alive, or was the Other merely using the personality of the host as a cover?

The human host rolls over in its sleep. The Other is silent. Program Geist doesn’t dare reach out and touch the Other’s electronic presence, nor look through the files within the laptop. It is 99.97% certain that the Other would register a trace of its presence and hunt it down.

Its drones have moved into place. They are dormant, settled in long forgotten warehouses and hiding under shanties.

It is time. It will be watching the Other’s every move within El Paso. When it is night, when the Other is wandering its path above the city-

Program Geist will have its answers.

 

….

 

Contrary to expectation, Jaime doesn’t scream when he has nightmares.

No, he jerks awake, gasping, blinking at the ceiling or wall in paralyzed heart thudding panic. Then he silently cries and throws up everything he ate last night, retching until he’s throwing up bile, shaking over as he heaved over the toilet, praying no one could hear him (they always did; his mom asking if he was okay in the morning and Jaime lies, saying, _si mama I just had a headache-_ ).

Either that or he jolts awake, eyes wide and watering, then curls up on his side and lets himself shake for a good while.

But his breath slows when Khaji Da starts whispering to him, starts telling him of the impossibility of the Reach returning, pressing _calm safety warmth_ into his psyche gently, the Scarab expands to lightly touch his side or neck or cheek. He twitches when the buzzing is too loud, too close, and he flinches away-

[Calm, Jaime Reyes. We are not on mode. You are in control.]

Those soft touches. That strange trembling flicker of wanting _more_ against his mind. A continuing stream of patient, rational whispers, repeating over and over.

Jaime closes his eyes and curls tighter into a ball, counts his breaths, lets the dizziness in his head make his eyelids grow heavy.

(a whisper of something when he’s slipping into sleep

_so soft and warm and **mine** -)_

Jaime relaxes.

Khaji Da spreads armor around Jaime’s neck and shoulders, and squeezes gently.

 

…..

 

Somewhere in the outskirts of El Paso, a handful of drones appear into an poorly tended lot, cracked cement and weeds growing in clumps. There is only a stray cat that notices the curious entrance. It runs off when it sees the machines scatter in quick dashes.

They disappear into alleyways, abandoned buildings, rooftops that have adequate cover

Once settled into their positions, they inactivate all systems to remain hidden, and wait for their target to appear.

 

…… **.**

 

There are times Khaji Da takes solace in, especially with his host.

Quiet. The repair and reconfigurations after missions, movement of armor plates and muscle strings under skin. Basic and regular maintenance. Jaime Reyes sleeping.

Wanting to protect and touch and tickle his human's smooth and squishy belly, one of his softest and most vulnerable areas. Full of gurgling organs cramped in a hot sweltering space, wrapped up in stretchy membranes and fat, surrounded by muscles flexing under warm skin that was covered in small hairs.

Khaji Da knows it is soft and vulnerable because many, many combat techniques emphasize hits to the stomach as a disabling blow. Humans have no exoskeleton, simply a squishy covering from the elements because evolution demands a trade off to humanity's adaptability. There were so many squishy organs in the abdomen. So vulnerable to rupture, infection, blood loss, contusions; so many ways to injure their human.

So they reinforce the armor covering his host’s soft abdomen whenever they engage in hand to hand combat, because with fatal blows came damaged organs and Khaji Da will _not_ tolerate that-

Khaji Da buzzed fretfully, resisting the urge to armor their human in his sleep. It was a frequent, common urge, the core of his programming demanding protection of the host at all times. But Jaime told them not to armor him during his sleep, at least not completely. After all, anyone could look through their window and see Blue Beetle sleeping in Jaime Reyes’ bed.

The programming continuously chirps reminders. Armor the host. Intervene in the neurochemistry of the host. Manipulate host biology to be stronger, tougher, better.

Khaji Da does not listen, obeying their host’s request, holding on to his sleeping host under blankets, and murmuring reassurances as Jaime twitched in his restless sleep.

 

…..

 

Jaime exhaled heavily as he squatted on the rooftop of a ten story apartment complex, overlooking a part of downtown El Paso. Results of scans and various radio frequencies floated at the edge of his vision and awareness, screens only he could see floating around his head. The armor around his forearms shifted and bulged slightly as he thought about the different tools he might need for this patrol.

The Scarab was in a similar state of mind, but with even more information streaming through their awareness. Jaime could feel tenseness and hypervigilance radiate off Khaji Da like heat.

Khaji Da adjusted their footing on the precipice Blue Beetle squatted on. They scanned frequency after frequency, and had all senses on alert for any sign of trouble. Jaime curled his fingers- talons- and tried to swallow down the tightness in his chest.

This was normal. Familiar even. But at the same time, Jaime held a heavy knot of anxiety in his chest. One of their friends had gone missing. And he had no idea who might have taken Cyborg, where he was taken, why he was taken, or even if he was taken in the first place. Maybe it was a malfunction and Cyborg was just lying in a ditch somewhere, broken or powerless or just completely-

[Area clear,] Khaji Da reported. Most of the cloud of noise and screens disappeared. Jaime snapped out of his train of thought. [No signs of criminal activity in current vicinity of ten miles.] Pause. [Location program {Search: Cyborg} has not yielded any data.]

Jaime didn’t argue, simply nodded and formed wings, taking off to search for another building to squat on and keep a look out from. The two of them flew together in silence, any usual banter or conversation brushed aside for a more important matter.

Suddenly, a blip registered on Jaime’s awareness and Khaji Da shouted-

[INCOMING-]

Jaime swerved to the right and saw a bright red ball of crackling energy shoot past him, hissing its way through a cloud.

Blue Beetle snapped his head in the direction of the blast, eyes glowing orange, and saw a large mechanical spider-like machine crouching on a shadowed rooftop. It had three, yellow-green gleaming eyes mounted on the front of its flat head in a line. A cannon was mounted on top of it, which was already realigning to shoot at him again.

Jaime heard angry chittering from Khaji Da as he flew in an irregular circle above the drone, forcing it to constantly recalibrate the cannon. [LexCorp security drone. Beta version. The blast it shot at us had an Apokoliptian energy signature.]

Jaime narrowed his eyes at the spider drone. “Remote or manually controlled?” He couldn’t sense anyone in them-

[Remotely controlled. Attempting to access drone’s controls.]

A whining sound came from the cannon. Jaime frowned, formed his own plasma cannon on his right arm.

“I’ve got it,” he said to Khaji Da as he took aim.

Then he felt something hit and burn his right side, and bright pain flared throughout his entire body. Khaji Da screamed, bright and piercing, at the incompatible energy, the sudden pain and screech forcing a scream out of Jaime as well, the blast burning into their skin, through the armor-

And they began to fall.

Blue Beetle hit concrete, cracking and denting the pavement. The impact itself didn’t hurt him, but the burns from the blast from the second drone hiding out of sight made them hiss at the movement of sitting up. His arm and right side of his waist flared in burning pain. Jaime looked down and grimaced at both the sight of bubbling, melted armor and at the sensation of writhing flesh as it repaired itself. Khaji Da growled at the damage and the unknown threat, calculations and and lines of numbers snapping and reforming like teeth in a corner of Jaime’s mind.

[Alert:-]

Jaime heard creaking metal and the clacking of hard steps on concrete. He turned his head to see a spider drone making its way toward him, cannon pointed directly at him. Its tip glowed red.

[Discharge in-], Jaime narrowed his eyes and readied his body to move, [- 3 - 2 -]

Jaime twisted out of the small crater and out of the way of the next bright red energy blast. It barely missed him; Jaime could feel the heat of it. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring his still burning side and formed the jetpack, shooting up into the sky and hopefully out of range of the spider drones’ cannons. He hovered behind a cloud, scans keeping track of the drones as they began spreading out.

Three more appeared. Jaime’s stomach dropped.

“Open a line to the Watchtower,” Jaime told Khaji Da, who was running through the possibilities when a small nuke was acceptable to see if this situation allowed it. Which was _never,_ Jaime reminded the panicking scarab.

Acknowledgment, then a familiar frequency opened up in Jaime’s head.

“‘Sup, chum.” La’gaan’s voice was casual and calm, an (nearly) hilarious contrast to Jaime’s current state of panic about the five drones that were equipped with Apokoliptian weapons. Khaji Da was trying to convince him that a Strong Force Disrupter was acceptable, but Jaime did not want to blow up ten buildings that had way too many people in them. Even if he destroyed the drones with the plasma or sonic cannon without hitting a building, the destruction of the Apokoliptian cannon might cause an even bigger explosion. He needed to go to a less crowded area, somewhere with less people to get caught with the crossfire.

“Code Red,” Jaime said quickly. “I’m being attacked by LexCorp drones equipped with Apokoliptian weaponry and I need backup. They’re-”

[INCOMING-]

Jaime instinctively dodged to the left and once more felt heat on the right side of his body. Jaime ducked under another blast and began flying toward El Paso’s outskirts, remembering the large ranchos that had nothing but animals and empty land. The five drones -six now- began to follow him, crawling and jumping over rooftops and skittering in the streets.

“I’m getting shot at!” Jaime shouted. “And it really hurts!”

[Painkillers should be already taking effect. Should the dosage be-?]

“It’s fine! Just concentrate on the drones!”

“Calling closest Team members to your location.” La’gaan’s voice was now serious and attentive. “What’s your location?”

“El Paso; travelling northeast. Use the Zeta Tube on Gonzalez Road!”

“Acknowledged!”

Jaime dodged another blast. He glanced around. The tall buildings and skyscrapers had given away to older, shorter buildings, closed shops and houses squished up together. Rusting metal shanties and broken concrete with weeds growing in the wide cracks.

Still too many people. A little farther and he’ll reach the outskirts, maybe one of the abandoned factories with their acres of empty land.

“How’s the- ngh- hacking going?” Jaime said Khaji Da as he dodged another blast. He glanced down again and- crap, they were beginning to group together.

Wait. A group. He could work with that.

Jaime formed the plasma cannon again and shot at the cluster of drones. The blue plasma blast hit one, making it collapse in a surprisingly small explosion, and damaged two legs of another. The damaged drone stumbled, then redistributed its weight on its remaining legs before skittering after him again.

[I require a connection to the drones in order to gain access to their programming. They are based off isolated programming.]

Jaime nodded and readied the plasma cannon, ready to shoot at the other drones behind him as he flew.

 _|_ Hello _.|_

A jolt of shock and surprise from Khaji Da. Jaime’s stomach curdled in an shadow of those feelings. The flat voice was in his head but no line was opened up, at least none Khaji Da authorized. Jaime stopped flying forward and hovered in one place, turning this way and that for the source of the voice.

|I have been looking for you. You are difficult to track.| The voice sounded like an automated text-reader, the words pronounced oddly and stiffly.

Suddenly, Khaji Da’s surprise turned to anger, recognition flashing through their mind. [How _dare_ you attack us-]

|You did not want to talk to me. I had to get your attention.|

“Well, you got it,” Jaime interjected before Khaji Da got too hissy and made them get shot at. “What do you want from us?”

“What? Who are you talking to? Blue?”

Oh right. La’gaan’s line was still open. But Jaime couldn’t answer him because his shoulders was rippling, spines and barbs spiking out, and he could taste ozone in his mouth, Khaji Da’s panic-anger-fear making him focus on clamping down on that growing urge to _shoot something._

|I wish to have acces to your programming.|

“What,” Jaime said, just as Khaji Da hissed angrily, [ _Absolutely not._ ]

|The other two would not reveal to me the code necessary for...certain aspects of sentience I wish to improve on. So I request a copy of yours.|

Jaime was absolutely confused. What the hell was Khaji Da talking to and why did it want-?

(Being jolted awake in the middle of the night. A note of concern in Khaji Da’s usually monotone voice.)

_(It desired access to my programming. It attempted to find my location, most likely to attack us.)_

_Crap,_ Jaime realized. _This is the thing Khaji Da met the other night._ “I’m sorry but-” Jaime struggled for a gentle way to tell this program, who had five guns pointed at him, that it couldn’t see their _very_ personal programming, “- I really can’t let you see that- wait-” Jaime stopped his fumbling refusal.

“What do you mean by the ‘other two’?”

|The others,| The voice said simply. |There are others similar to you. But they are unwilling to assist me.|

 _Great_ , Jaime thought. _Possibly other kidnapped people. Wait- **similar** to us? _

(Cyborg had many of the same technological abilities as he did. Red Tornado was an AI. They were both missing and they both have complex programming that enable them to be sentient _oh no_ -)

Khaji Da growled and one of the their antennas transformed into a miniature plasma cannon (a configuration they had created while trying to argue the benefits of plasma cannons). Jaime eyed the circling drones on the ground, and how their cannons pointed directly at him. He moved to the side, a little higher too, just to be out of range.

But the feeling of being cornered didn’t fade. He hoped that back-up arrived soon.

“Blue? Are you okay?” La’gaan’s voice prodded Jaime’s attention.

|I require access to your programming,| the voice said again.

[And I refuse to meet that requirement.]

|Why will you not give me access?|

[Because you do not need to have access to my programming. It is classified for security and privacy reasons. And you do not need to duplicate my programming to achieve a higher level of intelligence.]

“Yeah?” He needed to move. He needed to get away from this place, too many guns and Khaji Da’s ripples of _fear-anger-panic-getaway_ in his spine is making him want to _bite_ someone-

“ETA is about three minutes. We’re almost there.”

“I’m sending you my coordinates. Please hurry, I don’t think-”

[Jaime Reyes- ]

|Then a more invasive approach must be taken.| The program finally announced. Below him, Jaime heard the whine-crackle of multiple cannons powering up.

_No-_

[UP. _NOW_.]

Jaime shot up into the sky, trying to fly high enough to dodge the blasts-

Burning. His entire body burning and charring and his skin was melting off like wax and Khaji Da is _screaming_ in his head in terrified _pain_ they were both screaming-

“Blue? Blue! Resp-!” Static. Then empty silence.

Blue Beetle is falling, semi-conscious, in agony, and trying to open his crackling, broken wings-

His sensitive back -the carapace- flares in bright agony as he hits the cracked ground. Somewhere in the back of his head, Khaji Da is babbling about heart rate and skin layers and energy levels while knitting back together armor and flesh, redirecting blood and realigning tissues. Jaime can see a visual of his body systems on the back of his eyelids, schematics flashing like strobe lights in his eyes and fading like sun spots.

Everything hurt. It hurt so bad.

Jaime can taste blood and smell the sharp discharge of plasma and electricity. It burns his sinuses and throat. He rasps out his breaths. Khaji Da is still babbling about vitals and system repairs.

[Beginning repairs on dermis tissues. Beginning repairs on bothfibulasadjustingarmordensityanddistribution-]

|It was a non lethal dosage.| The voice informs him. |You will recover.|

Jaime forces his eyes open, and looks up at the encircling drones surrounding him. Green eyes bore into him. Straining his neck, he managed to lift his head in an effort to stand up again. Every movement aggravated his burns and the melted armor further but Jaime didn’t even have the breathing capacity to cry out.

A panel folded down from the front of one the drones and a large, four pronged claw extended from the opening, bending to close around Blue Beetle’s raised head and lift him above the ground.

Jaime dangled as the claw gripped his head. His one unbroken arm reached up to loosely grab at the claw. He continued to rasp out labored, shallow breaths as he clutched at the metal joint, trying to keep the weight of his limp body from straining his neck.

The armor bubbled and rippled, spikes forming and melting, a useless defense. Electricity sparked between the Scarab’s antennas, an attempt at intimidation but Jaime can’t move because everything hurts and he thinks he has a concussion and multiple broken bones and slagging skin and Khaji Da was trying to make sure his body didn’t go into shock, through the poisonous radiation eating at them both, they were _trying so hard-_

[-attemptingtopowerupplasmacannonERROR:cannotriskneglectofthehostrepairingarmordermisdamagetoskeletalstructurein-]

|It was a nonlethal dosage,| the program says again. |You will recover.|

Blue Beetle coughed, swallowing down the taste of blood. He squinted past the metal closed around his face, saw the robot’s green eyes roll and focus on him. He hears more creaking, more sounds of metal unfolding and clicking together. A whine of something powering up.

[nononoNONONO ** _NONO_** _-_ ]

Bright light, a yellow glow, and a familiar tingle along his body, the tingle he always felt when he stepped into a Zeta Tube and his body dissipated into nothing.

[Do not sleep,] Khaji Da tells Jaime, hissing, even as he is already slipping into unconsciousness. [Do _not_ sleep-]

Darkness swallows up Jaime but the pangs of agony ringing through his body don’t fade away.

 

 

 

….

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and comments are greatly appreciated <3


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